


Raising Hybrid Puppies

by JayEz



Series: Hybrid Puppy Verse [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Humor, Last Week Tonight as plot point, M/M, Slow Build, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark vs. The Media, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, jarvis disapproves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2018-12-06 08:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 33
Words: 158,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11596698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz
Summary: When Tony saunters into the coffee shop, he never expected to meet Peter Parker, the incredibly hot barista with a brilliant mind and a passion for engineering only rivaled by Tony’s own. Tony always gets what he wants – which is pushing Peter up against the counter and making sure he forgets his own name.But he can’t.Because Peter’s sixteen.~*~A non-powered Tony/Peter coffee shop AU with billionaire Tony and working-class, teenage Peter. Also, Toomes has a bakery and somehowLast Week Tonightis a genuine plot point.Translations:Korean|Russian|ItalianFANARTby plavkivie |COLLAGEby 1r0n5p1d3r





	1. one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tony/Peter Barista AU feat. social commentary on “rich/poor” that merlenhiver wanted and I decided this fandom needed. 
> 
> ENDLESS THANKS to [merlenhiver](http://archiveofourown.org/users/merlenhiver) for the prompt and the continuous cheerleading, feedback and beta-services. This wouldn’t be possible without you, my dearest! 
> 
> Please note that all my other fics remain on hiatus. My real-life circumstances and mental health continue to be less than ideal for fanfic writing, which is all the more reason why I’m so, so happy that Spider-Man Homecoming re-energized my Muse this way!
> 
> EDIT 03-2018: A wonderful Twitter user brought an unauthorised copy of the first 14 chapters of this fic to my attention that a young writer had posted to Wattpad. Thankfully it was easy to have it taken down. I've since started [crossposting this fic on Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/story/137112702-raising-hybrid-puppies-a-starker-coffee-shop-au). If you find this anywhere else, please let me know!

**PROLOGUE**

“Come on, Peter, can’t you miss a few shifts?” Ned pleads. “I’m sure Mr. Harrington will let you back on the team if you ask.”

Peter shakes his head, careful not to let his smile drop. “You guys got this.”

Ned opens his mouth, probably to argue, but Michelle materializing next to them stops him. 

“Come on, loser,” she says in that affectionate way of hers. 

Peter wishes them good luck and waves them off as they board the bus to the decathlon in Washington. He turns away before it gets too much, though, and takes off in a run to leave Midtown Tech behind. 

The crowds of tourists slow him down as they always do, but Peter is small and agile and reaches the corner of 6th and 37th ten minutes later. His destination is a small, independent coffee shop tinged in afternoon sunlight barely making it past the skyscrapers of Manhattan. 

Seeing the name in large, corny letters with an even cornier cartoon puppy still makes Peter’s heart ache every time he sees it. Ben chose the name, was so happy with it, his shoulders squared in pride about having saved up the money to pay the down-payment on this amazing location. 

Peter shakes the memory out of his head and slips past a family in line to get coffee and pastries. 

“Hey, Aunt May!” Peter calls on his way into the back. 

“Hello, Mr. Two Minutes Late,” she calls back. 

Peter winces, immediately guilty. He shouldn’t have seen Ned off. 

Not when he knows May’s struggling again. 

He jumps right into the flow of frothing milk and making espresso shots next to where Mariazinha, Mr. Delmar’s daughter, is blending a smoothie. Peter doubts it’s for the two women in designer clothes laden with more shopping bags than Peter’s closet could hold, so he pushes one skinny latte in their direction with a smile. 

“Your soy mocha is coming right up,” he promises the other woman and speeds through the motions. After four months, he could make them in his sleep. 

He places the finished drink right next to the tip jar. At the beginning, he hated being that obvious and believed people would gladly tip their barista like they do their waitresses only to quickly be disillusioned. 

The Designer Women, however, seem to have forgotten he even exists. The second one picks up the paper cup and turns away, already taking a sip. 

Peter blinks after them. 

“Parker, a hand?”

Mr. Toomes’s voice jolts Peter out of his thoughts. The man owns a bakery at the other end of the street – “A real one, not one of those tasteless factory bun disposals,” as Mr. Toomes is prone to grousing whenever someone complains about his prices. 

He’s a gruff guy and a bit extreme, but without _The Sweet Vulture_ ’s muffins, bagels, bread and cakes, Peter doubts they’d have survived even their first month in the competitive world of independent coffee shops. 

“I threw in some leftover rolls from yesterday,” Mr. Toomes says as he hands over a rack of muffins. The ‘You can’t sell them but you can eat them’ goes unsaid. 

Peter beams at him. “Thank you, sir!” 

“The little guys gotta stick together, right?” Toomes smirks at him. “Hello, Mrs. Parker.”

May nods with a tired smile and hands over the money for the delivery. 

There’s a short reprieve from customers save for one of their regulars, an athletic guy in a NYU sweater who draws out his moments with Zinha as much as he can. Peter feels slightly better that he won’t be able to afford university if they take guys who haven’t realized after three weeks that Zinha is wearing rainbow-flag earrings. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Peter snaps back to reality. Toomes is glaring daggers at the ancient flat screen in the corner, a leftover from the couple they’d leased the place to after Ben… After Ben. It takes Peter a second to make out the Stark Industries logo next to the newscaster. 

“Privatizing public transport – what’s next, Stark?”

“Uh,” Peter interrupts, “but Mr. Stark said there’ll be cheaper rates because of the reduced energy and maintenance costs –”

“Yeah, and you know why?” Toomes spits. “Cause he’s replacing the maintenance crews with those robots of his. Bad enough I get my mail from one of his drones now. Poor old Ray’s been delivering mail for forty-seven years and then Stark swoops in and takes that away from him. That’s not revolutionizing the industry or helping people. That’s just the rich getting richer and us paying for it.”

“But, sir, uh,” Peter begins. Too many thoughts in his head at once make it hard to choose just one. “His arc reactor technology is helping people –”

“Oh, stop it with the hero worship, son,” Toomes cuts him off. “I’m the last to say Stark’s not a gifted engineer. But then he should stick to it, not waste his time and money on private jets and hookers.”

Peter has no idea how to respond to that. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to because a group of seniors just walked in, the tourist look complete with digital cameras and paperback travel guides. 

The next hours pass in a blur. Peter has to clock out at 6 PM, at least officially, because he won’t be 16 until next year and can’t work more than three hours on a school day. He pretends to do homework in the back while he’s actually restocking supplies, putting in orders, using May’s log-in information to balance the books and tinkering with spare parts to upgrade their equipment without having to buy or pay for replacements. 

He can do homework when they close up, which falls anywhere between 9 and 12 depending on how many customers they still have. Today, it’s 10.30 PM. May looks dead on her feet after an unplanned double-shift and not for the first time Peter imagines dropping out of school. His aunt wasn’t ready to take the coffee shop back, but the interim owners wanted to move on and it was either this or give up on Ben’s legacy. 

Sometimes, Peter wonders what his life would be like if they hadn’t taken back the shop, if Peter hadn’t cancelled his internship at Osborn Corp., if May had had the time to really heal. 

Then he watches her close up and smile at the sign above the door, and he knows it’s all worth it.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 11-03-2018: If you're new to this fic now that it's complete, no matter if it's been a week or a year, two years, three... I'd love to hear from you! So if you want to comment at any point, please go ahead :)   
> Comments always light up my days, no matter how long or short ♥

**One Year Later**

“No, not the open-ended, Dummy, the box-end, you stupid machine!” 

Dummy whirls off with a low beep that almost makes Tony regret his tone. Seriously though, he installed adaptive algorithms for a reason. Or maybe the operating system’s too old to sustain them after all? That’s what Tony gets for being a sentimental fool and opting not to change Dummy’s basic makeup… the wrong wrench. 

Another, more hopeful beep heralds Dummy’s return. 

“See, was that so hard?” Tony grumbles, then pats Dummy’s top plate before going to town on the engine in front of him. “Miniaturizing the arc reactor tech, that’s hard.”

“And what about building it into a car?” Pepper says to his left, startling Tony into hitting his elbow. 

He pouts at her, rubbing the spot. She looks unimpressed, which goes great with the white Dior she’s still in. Wait, isn’t the gala still going?

“It is. Even without you.”

“Wait, did I say that out loud?” Tony wonders, but Pepper has been around long enough to get it was rhetorical. Usually him asking means that he did without realizing. His mind’s a marvel, really. 

Tony goes back to tinkering. Pepper’s stern gaze doesn’t waver. 

“Jeez, I came, I dropped off a check, I kissed some cheeks, danced with a few daughters and sons –”

“Yes, I noticed. How old is he?”

Tony shrugs, but then remembers he’s halfway inside the engine so Pepper probably didn’t see that. 

“Twenty,” he replies. “So hold the calls to PR, it’s all above the age of consent, I learned my lesson, yada yada yada, I hear ‘Valedictorian’ and run, JARVIS has a new protocol and everyth– wait, what’d you mean, _is_?”

Tony twists out of the engine and catches Pepper closing her eyes in exasperation. 

“You left a twenty-year old kid on a couch in Stark Tower. Of course he’s still here.”

“Send him home, then. Gawd, I thought the kid was smart.”

No response. Pepper is arching her eyebrows at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. You say that as if I’m still your assistant. Did you experiment with memory alternating substances again?”

“Why? That project’s done. The licensing fees alone pay for the mansion on Gozo.” Tony grins. Pepper doesn’t budge. “Oh, that was… Well, JARVIS can throw him out. You listening, buddy?”

“Always, sir.”

“Tony.”

“Pepper?”

She regards him for a moment with the sort of pleading expression Tony’s come to detest from those closest to him. So basically just from Pepper. And maybe Rhodey. And Bruce. Good thing JARVIS doesn’t have a physical presence. 

“Just talk to him, okay? You can’t shut everyone out.”

Ugh, it’s devolving into _that_ kind of conversation. Tony can’t do that without more caffeine. He flees across the workshop to where the only slightly upgraded machine awaits his ministrations. 

He’s halfway through his first cup when it dawns on him that Pepper isn’t talking. 

Instead, she’s watching him gulp down the coffee in his dress pants, tailored shirt and waistcoat. His jacket must be somewhere in the living room or wherever the guy took it off him. Shit, did he get a stain on his – no. Phew. Relieved, Tony empties the cup. 

“Want one, too?” he offers, pushing the button. 

He automated the manual system of grinding the beans, brewing it at exactly the right temperature – 200°F – and starting the bath. It’s still a pleasure to watch the ground beans bloom and see that the 120 bucks he spent on this latest pound of coffee didn’t go to waste. 

He says as much. “I’ve decided to taste my way through every coffee bean and blend on the planet. I’m already in Colombia, working my way through. This family, Ospino – no, Ospina? They’re the oldest in the country, started in 1835, isn’t that just – okay, moment of truth: Should I buy a coffee farm?”

“Tony.”

Yeah, okay, so he’s rambling. 

“We can postpone, you know,” Pepper murmurs, her tone too fucking gentle. 

Dummy drives up to him and pokes him with a ratchet wrench. 

“Why’d you think I’d even need that?” Tony challenges, removing the second cup with one hand while waving at Dummy with the other. “Is your code really that old? Put it back.” 

A sudden hand on his shoulder makes Tony jump. 

It doesn’t matter that he knows it can’t be anyone but Pepper. Or that he knows that Pepper is safe. The safest person in his life, actually. As brilliant as his mind his, it can’t override the primal part of his brain that flashes back to caves and hands and pain at unmediated contact. Or randomly at a gala. Seriously, the irrationality of it drives Tony up the walls of his mind sometimes. 

Today it just catapults him forward. He collides with the coffee machine and the momentum is enough to send it off the table and crashing onto the floor where it smashes into several pieces. 

“Damn, Tony, I’m so sorry –”

“No, don’t worry about it, I…” Tony begins, then sighs. Closes his eyes. Draws in a deep breath until his ears stop ringing. 

Pepper stays. She doesn’t touch him again but just having her there is a big help. He smiles at her once he trusts his facial muscles again and hates the guilt in her eyes. It’s not her fault a group of terrorists kidnapped him and traumatized him for life. 

“I’ll send him home,” she murmurs. “You get some rest, okay?”

“Hm.”

Needless to say, Tony won’t. His pulse is racing and he’s wide awake. 

“All-nighter it is!” he announces to the workshop at large once the clack-clack-clack of Pepper’s heels has faded. “JARVIS, status on… whatshisname? Ethan? Kenji? Bernard?” 

“Mr. Timothy has left the premise, sir.”

Then Tony can get his jacket himself instead of sending one of his robot prototypes. Stark Industries might already be the market leader in household robots, but there’s always room for improvement. Who doesn’t need a butler that doesn’t require food or sleep? 

By the time Tony’s mind slows down to its usual speed instead of the hyperactive mess it morphs into every now and then, he’s somewhere in Midtown. 37th Street, according to JARVIS. 

Well, it’s Manhattan. The city runs on ambition and caffeine, so there’s bound to be a coffee shop in his immediate vicinity. 

The one that catches Tony’s eye has a truly weird name, with a corny-as-hell sign and cartoon puppy. It’s still open at 9.30 PM, too. 

Alright, then. Tony adjusts his glasses and saunters into _The Hybrid Puppy_. 

*

Peter is pointedly drying the dishes in sight of Miss Writing My Screenplay at a Coffee Shop Till Midnight. 

The two couples near the windows are about to empty their mugs and Aaron already returned from the bathroom, a lot cleaner than when he came in. 

Peter is under orders not to hand out any left-over food until closing time, which is hard when he can see Aaron’s eyes dart to the recycled paper bag behind the counter every few seconds filled with the sort of pervasive hunger that eclipses everything else. Peter hates that look. He hates that he has to wait until he can do something about it even more.

He puts the now dry dish back onto the shelf to the soundtrack of typing and low conversations, then grabs a glass with a pointed look in the writer’s direction. 

The typing grinds to a halt. 

Peter’s head shoots up. The woman isn’t looking at him, though, she’s staring at a guy who just walked into the shop. 

_Holy shit._

Peter scrambles to the counter, notices he still has his hands full of glass and dishtowel, puts them down and speeds back to the register with his heart beating in his throat. 

That’s _Tony Stark_ standing in front of him. In the flesh. _The_ Tony Stark, from the goatee to the tailored, three-piece suit and the pocket square. He's even taken off his Stark glasses in a move right out of the documentaries Peter has been playing on a loop since he had his own laptop. 

“Hello, Mr. Stark!” Peter blurts. “What can I get you?” 

Mr. Stark's eyes flick to him briefly before the man resumes perusing the menu written on the chalk boards behind Peter. 

“What single origins do you have? Or blends. I’ll drink them, too.” 

Peter blinks. “Uh, we do custom blends? We do have single origins, but I– uh, we usually mix them. Hybrid, you know?” 

He smiles but it feels too wide to come across as friendly. Then again, Mr. Stark’s not looking at him. 

“At this hour the decaf’s most popular,” Peter continues, “but the Black Force is our best - I mean, all our blends are good, but I –”

“Where do you source the blends, kid?” Suddenly, Mr. Stark’s eyes are on him. 

Peter feels his pulse spike. “Uh, locally,” he says with a hint of pride. “Our biggest hit’s from Queens?”

“Queens?” Stark wrinkles his nose.

Peter's heart sinks. He swallows. “Well, uh, this is a local coffee shop and we’re supporting our community. We also get great pastries and bread from an independent baker, the, uh, _The Sweet Vulture_ up on 38th, but I’m afraid you’re too late and they’re all gone…” 

Stark looks over to the brown pastry bag next to the sink. 

Peter’s face heats. “They’re, uh, they’re reserved.” 

Stark arches a dubious eyebrow at him. Peter tries and fails to curb his blush. 

“I don’t even care anymore,” Mr. Stark announces with a shrug. “Just give me some coffee. Any coffee.” 

Peter nods, turning to the grinder. 

“Oh,” Stark continues, “and throw in the rolls or pastries or whatever, too. I’m starving.” 

Peter turns back to protest but the words die in his throat. 

There are two hundred dollar bills on the counter. 

“Uh, Mr. Stark, I’m not sure I have the change, or I have but then we won’t have any for tomorrow –”

“It’s fine,” Stark says with a wave of his hand. He’s not even looking anymore - his glasses are back on and he’s pulled out his... the new prototype Stark Phone. 

“Kid? The bread.”

“Uh...” Peter works the machine because even when he’s panicking he’s gone through this process so often by now that it’s been burned into his muscle memory. He places the finished cup of coffee in front of Mr. Stark, right next to the bills. 

Peter can’t stop staring at it. He bites his lips. 

“I can’t, sir.” 

“Why?” 

“They’re reserved.” 

Stark pushes the money towards Peter. “No they’re not.”

Peter makes a pained noise he can’t cut off, not with his heart racing like this. ”I truly am sorry, sir.” 

Stark’s eyes narrow. Peter heard legends of Tony Stark’s glare but being at the receiving end if it doesn’t come close to the tales, not in the slightest. 

“Well, I don’t have anything smaller.”

“You can pay by card?” Peter offers with a wince. 

Stark regards him for another moment. Then he reaches into his breast pocket, pulls a card out of his wallet that Peter’s only ever seen in commercials, and swipes it. A smile ghosts over Mr. Stark’s features when he sees the card scanner bears the SI logo.

There’s no tip with credit card payments. The two hundred dollars are safely back in Mr. Stark’s wallet. 

“Enjoy your coffee, sir,” Peter says weakly.

Tony takes the cup and leaves. He doesn’t even taste it inside the coffee shop. Peter feels his shoulders slump and his stomach plummet while the two couples hastily exit, maybe to chase Mr. Stark down for an autograph or a selfie. Even the writer is closing her laptop. 

Aaron steps up to the counter. “You coulda given him my rolls, man. ‘S not like you’re swimming in cash either.” 

“It’s the principle of it,” Peter says with a humorless smile. “It’s… they’re yours. I’m not gonna sell out and let you go hungry.” 

“You coulda sold them and given me a cut. Guess Stark’s pocket change woulda lasted me a month or more.”

Peter frowns. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Aaron laughs, right from his stomach. It’s a great sound he doesn’t hear often enough. 

“That’s cause you’re Peter Parker.”

He’s not sure what Aaron means by that, so Peter just ducks his head. The shop’s empty, meaning he can finally grab the paper bag and give it to Aaron, whose smile is small but sincere down to the bone. 

“Thanks, man. Flip the sign?” 

“Yes, please. Have a good night!” 

Peter watches Aaron limp out, turning the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ before he exits. Peter collapses onto the counter, burying his head in his arm. What the hell just happened? And how is he supposed to focus on the English Lit essay due tomorrow, the essay he hasn’t even started yet, after _this_?

*

Tony watches the homeless crack head flip the sign and hears the kid’s groan via his earpiece thanks to JARVIS’s brilliant recon functionalities. 

“Who’s the cute barista?” he finally asks. 

“One moment, sir.”

The couples are long gone. Apparently they weren’t star-struck enough to scour the shadows and nooks to get his autograph. Or probably just a stupid picture. Or – Tony shudders at the thought – a _video_. 

Tony finally tries the coffee … and almost downs the entire thing in one big gulp. 

He blinks at his cup. 

He’s had coffee fresh from Guatemalan highlands and it wasn't this good. Granted, Tony’s memory on that is a bit muddy because he also got heroin straight from the field during that trip, but you get the drift. 

By now, JARVIS has found quite a bit on the kid. Peter Parker, Queens home address, a junior at Midtown Tech…

Tony does a double take. “He’s _sixteen_?”

“So it would seem, sir.” 

Steadily maintaining a 3.9 GPA, was a member of a lot of extracurricular until last summer... oh. Tony stumbles over “uncle” and goes back further... 

Double oh. Oh squared. 

Peter was even younger when his parents died.

Suddenly, Tony feels bad about prying. 

“JARVIS, when does this place open tomorrow?”

“Opening times of _The Hybrid Puppy_ are 6 AM to 9 PM on weekdays and 7.30 AM to 7.30 PM on weekends, though my records indicate a more flexible closing time.”

“And what’s Peter’s schedule?” 

“Officially, Mr. Parker’s shifts begin at 5 PM on school days, 3 PM on Fridays, and 7 AM on weekends. They end with closing time, except on Saturdays and Sundays, where the owner comes in at 3 PM when he officially clocks out.” 

Tony squints at the shop. “What’s with the ‘officially’, buddy?”

“Mr. Parker is allowed to work a maximum of eight hours on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, yet my records suggest that he is prone to using the owner’s passwords to do other work beyond the scope of what the State of New York has deemed permissible working hours for minors.”

Tony hums. Guess he’ll jump from Colombia right to Queens.

*

FANART for _Raising Hybrid Puppies_ by plavkivie  
([tumblr post](https://plavkivie.tumblr.com/post/169341945736/my-fanart-to-the-most-wonderful-starker-fanfic-i) / [deviant art](https://plavkivie.deviantart.com/art/Starker-Fanfic-Fanart-Raising-Hybrid-Puppies-723914043?ga_submit_new=10%3A1515152472&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1&ga_recent=1))


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOLKS, I'm absolutely FLOORED by how well this has been received so far! I hope my fic will live up to expectations. It's definitely keeping me sane at the moment - I've started in-patient therapy at a clinic and well, it's hard. But this fic and your enthusiasm is a bright, bright light these days :)
> 
> Also, even though I'm loath to give estimates as to chapter count... I think this one will have at least 12 chapters.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Tony Stark came into your shop?!” Ned all but shouts. 

Peter ducks his head as if that would keep his schoolmates in he cafeteria from staring. 

“I didn't know Tony Stark did charity, Parker!” is Flash’s immediate reply. Sometimes Peter thinks Flash plans his entire day, including when to get his lunch, around humiliating Peter in front of a maximum number of people. 

Peter pouts at Ned who’s already looking at him with big, apologetic eyes. He can’t stay angry with his best friend, even on a horrible day like this. 

“Does he actually have an AI? Did he use it? Did he have the _StarkGlasses Five E_ or, oh, oh, oh – was it a new model? Did he use his phone? Please tell me he used his phone.” 

Peter huffs a laugh despite his mood. 

“No; I guess; and yes. His phone… It...” Peter bites his lips. “It looked completely different. Like there's a miniature arc reactor in there.” 

“I knew it!” Ned cheers, then launches into a five minute speech on the rumors of Stark having commercialized his horrendously expensive arc tech which so far only powers Stark Tower, four of his plants, one research facility upstate, and, well, ensures that Mr. Stark doesn’t die from shrapnel. To think that he built the prototype in a cave in Afghanistan, while being tortured by terrorists for weapon specs, and to have met such a genius face-to-face…

It takes several moments of silence for Peter to notice Ned has stopped gushing and started grinning. 

_Oh-oh._

Peter shakes his head. Ned’s grin widens as he keeps nodding.

“Tell me, young padawan,” he teases, “is the real-life Tony Stark as handsome as you say he looks on television?” 

Peter rolls his head back with a groan. 

“So that’s a yes,” Ned concludes. 

Peter aims for a nonchalant shrug. He probably misses by a mile. 

“Could also be your dad, though.”

“Well, my Dad’s dead.” 

“That was low, dude.” 

Peter heaves a sigh. “Sorry. But it wasn’t like... He ruined it the moment he opened his mouth! He was, you know, he was mean! And childish! And, and when I said the coffee’s from Queens his face did this thing, like he’d just stepped in poop!”

“Puppy poop?” Ned offers. 

“I don’t think he likes puppies,” Peter grumbles. Ned, bless him, almost manages to stifle his chuckle at how petulant he probably sounds. 

“Oh! That reminds me – check this out.” Ned pulls up the Arc, SI’s web browser, and a few clicks later Ned hands over the device. “I finished it! It’s been live since midnight.”

“Dude, I thought you were asleep! I could’ve used some help with Spanish…” 

Peter takes the phone, an older StarkPhone model that’s still working despite how much Ned and Peter have been tinkering with it. Peter’s still saving for one of his own but the dishwasher breaking last month really set him back. Like, to zero. 

“Woah, this looks good,” Peter says honestly. 

It’s a website for their initiative called the Neighborhood Avengers, the friendly next-door heroes who help the elderly with groceries or protect stalking victims. It originated in Brooklyn but it has spread to all parts of New York. _The Hybrid Puppy_ has sort of become the local group’s headquarters since its founders are regulars. 

Ned’s web design’s steadily improving. He also did the one for their coffee shop, but this time Ned integrated a lot of MJ’s artwork and the team meeting schedule is right there on the –

“Shit, the meeting is today!” Peter jumps to his feet, leaving the phone on the table. “I forgot to order the muffins!”

“Relax, dude, we’ll be fine without…” Ned tries but Peter is across the cafeteria and out to Smoker’s Corner before he can hear the end. Not that he smokes, it’s just that the spot has the best reception and it’s closed off so teachers can’t really catch you. 

“Mr. Toomes, hi, uh, this is Peter. Parker. I, uh, I’m sorry to bother you, and this is probably too late but I forgot to tell you that we’ve got a meeting today and if you – I mean I get that it’s short notice, but –”

“Sure as hell it’s short notice,” Mr. Toomes grouses. Peter can hear the telltale sounds of the busy bakery in the background. “Be glad my daughter still keeps up with things from Oregon, she texted me about the homepage first thing this morning. Saw the announcement and figured you’d been too busy.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Toomes,” Peter says again. “I’m sure we can pay for the rush order –”

“Nah, then how could I sleep at night?” the other man huffs. “I might not have time to set up some old lady’s DVR but I can keep you boys fed.”

“And girls. And women,” Peter corrects automatically. 

Thankfully it gets a laugh from Toomes. 

“Yeah, yeah, gotta be politically correct. No, sir, I’m not being racist towards you,” Toomes adds, apparently to a customer on the other end of the line, yet Peter can’t make out the response, only Toomes’s laughter and a muttered “Oversensitive pricks” that he decides to pretend he didn’t. 

Hours later, after a grueling Spanish period and another round of “I say Penis” with Flash in the hallway, Toomes makes good on his word. The door to _The Hybrid Puppy_ swings open on too many boxes stacked in front of the man who’s wearing a manic grin. 

“Don’t look so frightened, son,” Toomes teases. “Nothing in there that’s gonna kill you. But tell Rogers to stay away from the coconut ones. Wouldn’t want Manhattan’s finest to die of anaphylactic shock, would we?”

By now, Ned has saved all his projects, closed his laptop and is at Toomes’s side to help. Later, it’s also Ned who sets up the muffins in the back where a corner table has been reserved for the team meeting because Peter’s drowning in orders for their October special. 

“No, ma’am, it’s not a Pumpkin Spice Latte,” Peter says for the gazillionth time when two beat cops enter. Maybe he should ask MJ for a sign that clarifies how much more awesome their Pumpkin Palooza is compared to the boring syrup at Starbucks. 

“I came here because I wanted a Pumpkin Spice Latte,” the woman complains. She’s tall and covered in makeup and her costume must be some sort of brand because the logo seems familiar to Peter. “What kind of coffee shop are you?”

“The best kind,” one of the cops says from behind her. 

The woman’s annoyance evaporates the second she clasps eyes on the men behind her. Peter can empathize – Officers Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are… captivating. And probably the reason Peter’s got comfortable with liking men really quickly. 

Peter makes the woman’s drink while she angles her body towards Steve and runs a hand through her hair. Bucky’s eyes glint with mirth and he winks at Peter who hides his grin behind the espresso machine. 

Zinha is already pouring Steve and Bucky’s usual coffees, which Peter takes with him to the back where Ned and the rest of the Avengers core are tearing into the muffins. It’s brave of them – they’re basically Mr. Toomes’s guinea pigs for his mad recipe ideas. 

“I think those are zucchini apple?” Ned offers. 

“Mr. Toomes is a strange man,” MJ notes. 

“Didn’t we kill someone with a zucchini once?” Clint Barton leans back against the wall. 

He’s sitting on the bench since he’s somewhat allergic to being on ground level. That’s why he says he came to Manhattan – there are enough private security gigs in skyscrapers. 

His partner in everything, Natasha, takes a sip from her mocha. “I think it was a cucumber.”

“Nah, definitely zucchini.”

“Do squashes even grow in Afghanistan?” MJ interrupts. As usual, Peter can never tell whether she’s sincere or sarcastic. 

“Greenhouse,” Natasha supplies curtly, which sends Clint off into a laughing fit for some reason neither of them are likely to share in the near future. Maybe at the _Hybrid Puppy_ Christmas Party given enough eggnog. 

Sometimes Peter finds it weird that their group is half ex-military, half high school students. According to MJ, though, it makes perfect sense. 

“You’re so full of shit, Romanov,” is Sam Wilson’s way of greeting. 

Bucky and Steve trail after him, Bucky out of breath from laughing with Steve trying to glare at his fiancé and failing abysmally. 

Peter hates that he can never relax at these meetings, as fun as they are, because he’s never fully there. As soon as the counter gets busy he has to return, which leaves him with little input over the initiative and picking up the jobs that remain and fit his schedule. It’s not that he doesn’t like taking Gary to the doctor or doing the groceries for the entire Queens Bridge Club… but he doesn’t feel like he’s part of the team, somehow. 

He hands out one last Amber Ambrosia, their berry-flavored blend, and is about to head back when a hush falls over the coffee shop. 

Immediately, adrenaline floods Peter’s system… 

… but it’s only a split second before the fight-or-flight moment passes. 

It’s not a robbery. 

It’s Tony Stark. 

Again. 

Peter swallows. Zinha is at the cashier but Mr. Stark ignores her. He ambles to the still-full glass case filled with pastries, bagels and more, next to which Peter is trying to get his pulse under control. 

“Any recommendations?” Mr. Stark asks, completely out of the blue. 

“Uh, recommendations?” 

Mr. Stark slides down his glasses to look Peter directly in the eye. “You were the one raving about them yesterday, kid. Like a walking five-star Yelp review. Which you guys have a lot of, by the way. They all make these sound practically orgasmic. That’s a lot to live up to.”

“O-orgasmic?”

His stammering earns a sly grin. Peter fears he’ll die on the spot. 

“Now that you know my expectations,” Mr. Stark continues, “which one should I try first?”

“Uh,” Peter manages, then shakes his head. He’s good at recommendations. He just has to pretend like this is any other customer. “Are you in the mood for sweet or savory?”

Mr. Stark’s eyes crinkle. “I’m in the mood for a lot of things… Oh, you’re talking about food, ha, my bad,” he adds with a wink. 

Peter decides to analyze that later. 

“I do have a sweet tooth, though.”

“And you appreciate coffee, right?”

“Oh, I more than _appreciate_ coffee,” Mr. Stark agrees, his tone dripping with innuendo. 

“Then, uh, then I’d suggest you start with the Almond Coffee Muffin?” Peter says, more confident now. Mr. Stark leans forward to inspect the row Peter is indicating in the glass case. “It’s one of our most popular muffins. It’s, uh, vegan. The coffee is from Brooklyn and the almonds from a rooftop garden in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“That’s a phrase I’d never thought I’d hear,” Mr. Stark murmurs, then straightens. “Sold. Give me five. And another coffee. Largest cup you have.”

“Coming right up,” Peter promises and seeks Zinha’s eye. She grabs a recycled paper bag for the muffins while Peter brews the coffee. His neck is prickling the entire time and when he turns, he realizes that Mr. Stark has been watching him. 

The man nods towards the coffee machine. “What model is that?” 

Peter glances over his shoulder and back before he can stop his fidgeting. He’s glad he hasn’t spilled any of the hot liquid yet. 

“A custom design, sir.”

“Let me guess, some local manufacturer?”

“Uh, well, kind of?” Peter ducks his head as he enters the purchase into the register. “I sort of designed it.”

“Hm.” 

It’s impossible to say whether Mr. Stark is impressed or not – well, definitely not. A sixteen-year-old kid piecing together a coffee machine will never compare to the stuff Mr. Stark invented when he was Peter’s age. Or younger, even.

“That will be $15,50, sir.”

Peter forgets to breathe after that because his mind flashes back to the picture of the two hundred dollar bills. He has no idea if last night ruined his chance of ever getting a tip from Mr. Stark for all eternity. Usually, Peter has perfected not getting his hopes up to an art form, yet Mr. Stark appears to be the exception to his rule. 

“Keep the change, kid,” Mr. Stark says, accepting the paper bag from a smiling Zinha and grabbing his cup as he turns to go. 

Peter stares after him. Takes a deep breath. Looks down. 

On the counter, there they are. 

Two one hundred dollar bills. 

The hush that has fallen over the coffee shop holds for another second. Then the door falls shut behind Tony Stark and all hell breaks loose. 

“That was AWESOME!” 

Peter’s head snaps up. 

Ned emerges from the back, waving his phone wildly. “I filmed the entire thing, oh my god, do you have any idea what this will do to our street cred?”

There’s a flurry of “Was that Tony Stark?” and “Guard my coffee, I need a selfie!” from around the shop. The only people who seem unimpressed are Steve, Bucky, Sam, Clint and Natasha. 

“Stark Security’s all about robots and drones, man,” Bucky explains. 

“Yeah, ain’t much room for people like us,” Sam agrees. “I see a lot of the effects at the VA. Not pretty, brother.” 

“Is that going into the tip jar?” 

Peter turns to Zinha and follows her eyes to where the bills are burning a hole into the counter. 

“Why wouldn’t it?” Peter wonders. “But maybe we should store it in the register? Coins get nicked, after all, so it might be safer?”

It’s only when the line of Zinha’s shoulders relaxes that her worries dawn on Peter. 

“Oh, you were – but why would I even –? I mean, we’re both working. Tips are shared at the end.”

“They better,” Zinha says but she’s grinning. “My budget for Christmas presents is, like, zero. Nada.”

MJ snorts. “Your makeup budget seems to be doing well, though.” 

“Why’d you even get up?” Ned says. “I thought the gawking would be beneath you.”

“Tony Stark is just another person in crisis.” 

Steve clears his throat, drawing Peter’s attention. The man’s brow is furrowed in concern and he’s looking right at Peter. 

“Do you need a refill?”

Steve steps up to the counter with a shake of his head. “Did he make you uncomfortable?”

 _Oh yes…_ Peter shifts his stance, wincing inwardly. 

By some miracle, his brain-to-mouth filter kicks in and he doesn’t say that. What he does say is, as innocently as he can: “Not really? Why?” 

“It’s just Stark was laying it on thick, Parker,” Bucky translates. 

“Oh, he, uh, he doesn’t mean it! I mean, why would he, I’m, uh,” Peter stammers, “and he’s, you know…”

“The Prince Charming to your Cinderella, or some other self-deprecating metaphor?” MJ suggests. 

When all Peter does is shrug sheepishly, she sighs and grabs both officers by their uniform sleeves. 

“Come on, let’s get back to the Halloween plans. I want to increase the reach of Pagan harvest celebrations in this Nation Under God.”

With that, MJ spins on her heels and returns to the back with the others following. Only Steve lingers for another moment, lips pursed, until Peter’s attempt at a reassuring smile chases him off, too. 

Peter sags against the fridge, releasing a long breath that does nothing whatsoever to calm his racing mind. _Orgasmic? In the mood for many things?_

Sure, Tony Stark has a reputation for being a flirt, but… but why would Mr. Stark flirt with a sixteen-year-old kid from Queens? 

For one wild, daring second, Peter imagines a world in which that is a possibility, where Mr. Stark would ask him out to dinner and show him his workshop afterwards, where they’d kiss against the door of Mr. Stark’s Audi R8, all eager and hungry for –

“Earth to Peter!”

Peter snaps back to reality, where there will never be dates or making out against luxury cars that have been personally upgraded by Peter’s idol, just more debates about Pumpkin Spice Lattes with customers who don’t realize how privileged they are to be complaining about this stuff in the first place. 

It’s a great fantasy, though.


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have THE BEST READERS. Seriously, folks, your comments are the highlight of my days! And thanks for your concern :) I'm doing pretty okay atm.
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but A LOT happens, so I hope that it still leaves you satisfied ;)

When Tony walks into Pepper's office, he’s greeted by two stern looks.

“I passed ‘fashionably late’ about seventeen selfies ago,” he says, flopping down in one of the ergonomic chairs surrounding the small conference table. 

Happy winces in sympathy but Pepper narrows her eyes at the paper bag and cup. 

“We have coffee here.”

“But none that’s locally grown,” Tony parries smoothly, opening the muffins and turning to Happy one chair over. “Want one?”

“Don’t mind if I do, boss.”

Tony snatches the bag away. “Sorry, they’re mine... Na, just kidding. Help yourself. Pepper?”

“I don’t want a muffin Tony. I want you to be a responsible adult for the five weeks that I'm gone so I can enjoy time with my husband.” 

“That’d be me,” Happy adds.

“Sorry, they were all out of that.” 

“Tony.”

“I’ll be good, Pepper. I promise. I wouldn't do that to you. Both of you,” he clarifies. 

After a moment, Pepper visibly relaxes. Good. Tony actually meant that. They take one holiday a year since they got together after the Ultron debacle – turns out there’s no benevolent AI without extensive protocols, and yeah, Tony sees that now, it was a stupid idea, but hey, at least he got the Department of Damage Control out of that – and... where was he? 

Right, holiday. 

Tony’s been doing everything in his power to give them that time. He can be a responsible shadow CEO for a month.

“The only big-ish thing you’ll have to handle is the Uber restructuring, and even that’s all hashed out. We’ll be back in time for the final meeting and signing with City Water.”

“Ugh,” Tony groans. “Why don’t they just hand over the keys right now? A lifeguard at Coney Island knows more about hydraulics than these amateurs.” 

Happy chuckles. 

“While I’m inclined to agree,” Pepper says, “there are laws and rules even we have to abide by. Now, JARVIS knows your schedule and he’s under strict orders to remind you and make you prepare and especially _attend_ these meetings. Please, don’t override the protocols.” 

“I won't,” Tony promises.

Which is why, hours later, he’s buried in briefings and reports to find out which clown in marketing to tear a new one at nine tomorrow. 

“JARVIS, start coffee.” 

“I’m afraid I’m unable to comply, sir. You have yet to repair the machine.” 

_Huh._ Well… “That coffee shop still open?”

“There are 42 coffee shops in the vicinity. You will have to be more specific.”

“Stop it with the Siri impressions. Playing dumb doesn’t work on you.” 

Jarvis’s silence sounds almost smug. 

He does eventually provide a visual of _The Hybrid Puppy_ , which is way too busy for 9 PM, so Tony kills some time by inspecting what used to be his coffee machine. Once the crowd has cleared, he ventures outside with his StarkPad so he can continue reading reports and checking schematics and simulations over whatever divine blend the kid has for him. 

Said kid is still as flustered and wide-eyed as the past two times when Tony tells him to make him one of the custom blends he mentioned and to keep them coming.

“I would’ve been here sooner but there were too many people,” he says with disdain.

“Sorry, it’s been a crazy day – someone tweeted that you were here and people just kept coming by. They ordered things too, which is great, but, uh… usually we aren’t that busy at this time. I hope you didn’t wait too long… Or, did you – no, obviously, uh, but how…”

Peter’s brow furrows for a second before he connects the dots. His eyes swivel towards the street and the CCTV cameras on the street. 

“Those are Stark Tech?” 

Damn, that kid is smart. 

Tony snorts. “Nah, not really. But until the City gets their collective heads out of their asses and hires a real cyber security firm, it’s not like it matters.” 

“Is there a firm that could keep you out?” 

Usually, such a question would be snuck into an interview or be asked in a sly tone or by a busty woman at a bar or party… not in earnest curiosity by a sixteen-year-old. 

Tony can’t stave off his smug grin. “Maybe in China. Or Russia.” 

He chuckles, then walks to a table that’s somewhat hidden from the front door but still offers a perfect view of the counter. 

“Here you go, Mr. Stark. This one’s called ‘Death Star’. It’s really strong but I thought... I mean, if you don’t –”

“Strong’s perfect,” Tony grins up at him and, carefully, Peter sets down a steaming mug near Tony. He’s lounging as much as one can lounge in a much-used armchair while breezing through a proposal for a new ad campaign. 

Peter makes a few other drinks for walk-ins and brings two more cups over to Tony with the same cute smile, yet once the shop is empty again he slips into the back briefly and returns... with a school book. 

And does homework. 

Because he’s sixteen. 

_Christ..._

Tony manages to _not_ be creepy while Peter forgets the world around him more and more, though once the kid starts chewing on his pen... Yeah. Tony is doomed. 

That’s also the point when Tony notices it’s almost eleven on a Wednesday night and he’s the last customer. 

By now, Peter has started murmuring phrases to himself, oblivious to Tony stepping up to the counter. When he’s closer, he makes out phrases – it’s Spanish. Peter’s pronunciation is fine but he’s struggling with expressing himself. Then again, he rarely makes it through an entire sentence in English without stammering, so Tony isn’t surprised. 

“Me gustaría... traba– no,” Peter mutters, “viajar en el sur de Guadalajara.” 

“En esa ciudad morirías de aburrimiento, querido.” 

Peter’s elbow slips off the counter and the kid flails adorably, eyes widening. “Oh! Sorry, Mr. Stark! Did I forget you?” Tony shakes his head. “You, uh, speak Spanish?” 

“Evidentemente,” Tony drawls. “And French. Italian, some Mandarin and Hindi. I can order drinks in Russian which is really all you need to know in that country – okay, and ‘Are you married?’ is a good one, jealous husbands are never fun, nowhere on Earth. Tried Arabic but, eh... it’s not for me.” 

_For obvious reasons._ Tony pauses - why did he mention it, then?

The subtext is, thankfully, lost on Peter. “Wow. I could never do that. I’m still struggling with one foreign language, let alone...” He gives an eloquent shrug.

“Maybe cause you’re doing homework at work instead of after school.”

“This is after sch– I mean, uh, I... I always come straight here.” 

Tony lets his eyebrows rise. He knew as much but Peter doesn’t know that Tony cyber-stalked him this early in their acquaintance. 

“There’s always something to do,” Peter continues, a defensive edge creeping into his tone. “Inventory or placing orders or making new blends, or, uh, I tinker with the machines, sometimes, so I, uh, I maybe lose track of time?” 

Tony’s mind ignores the five labor law violations the kid just admitted to and latches onto one word.

“Tinker? Like, improving the equipment?”

Peter nods, ducking his head. 

“You any good?”

Peter looks up, his expression first self-conscious, then sheepish. He gestures towards the assorted machines and blenders behind the counter. 

“I guess? It’s still up and running? I mean, stuff does break, that’s inevitable wear-and-tear, but I always find a way around buying the over-priced replacements and then I can adapt them to our specific needs. I used to do robotic lab at school before ... Sorry. You, uh, you want to pay?” 

It takes a moment for Tony to remember that that was what he wanted – as opposed to whisk the kid off in the next cab and take him to his workshop for the next few days. Or the bedroom. Or both. The way his eyes light up and he starts gesturing when he talks about getting his hands dirty make Tony want to do very, very bad things to him... 

But he can’t. 

Nope. 

Not _yet_ , anyway. There is one thing he can do, however... 

“You think you could take a look at something for me?” 

“F-for you?” 

“Yeah, I wrecked my coffee maker yesterday. My CEO’s going on holiday so I’m stuck doing her job, _again_ ,” he complains, “and got no time to fix the thing myself.”

“Uh, I’m sure someone at Stark Industries might be better suited –”

Tony shakes his head. “They wouldn’t get the upgrades I made.” 

At that, Peter’s eyes boggle. “You made upgrades? Like, yourself? A Tony Stark coffee machine? And I get to look at it? Oh my god, I’d love to, I’d be thrilled, sir –”

“I want you to do more than look,” Tony teases, and watches with a grin how Peter takes a deep breath before he hyperventilates. 

“You working tomorrow? Then I’ll drop it off then. Or have it dropped off, depending on how long meetings take nowadays in the world of Accounting.” 

Peter bites his lip, thinking. “We can store it on the first floor. It’s storage right now until we have the money to remodel it, but no one goes up there except Aunt May and I. When will you need it back, Mr. Stark?”

“When I sampled every coffee you have,” Tony says with a wink. 

The kid’s responding grin reveals a new side of him that Tony hasn’t seen before – a playfulness that must be buried under the whole working-class-hero, being-a-teenager-is-for-losers shtick. 

“Then I’ll just keep making more in case I run out of time.”

“Pfft, like it’s gonna take you more than a couple o’ days, kid,” Tony says. “I know talent when I see it. Buena suerte en español mañana, querido,” he adds, putting another bill on the counter – a fifty this time cause obviously Tony forgot to get more cash. 

He walks backwards to the door, grinning back at Peter, nudges the door open and flips the sign to ‘closed’ on his way out.


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent most of the weekend writing, so I'm two chapters ahead of posting as of now :) Thank you all for your continued trust and support!
> 
> And special thanks to merlenhiver, who was the voice of reason and held my hand through a major re-write of this chapter. ENJOY the fun while it lasts, folks! *grins*

“Dude,” Ned breathes out reverently. “This is the best day of my life. I just want to thank you for letting me be a part of this.”

It’s Friday, right after the evening rush. Downstairs, Lorinda is handling the stragglers and refills while Peter and Ned are staring at the mangled coffee machine that a nondescript Stark Industries employee dropped off when Peter arrived at the _Hybrid Puppy_ after school. 

“Oh, there was a note!” Peter suddenly remembers and pulls it out from his pocket. 

Peter doesn’t know if he’s relieved that Mr. Stark didn’t bring the machine in person or disappointed. Or well, no, he _does_ know, and he’s definitely relieved. Peter doubts he’d have been able to even look Mr. Stark in the eye today. Hormones are the worst... Peter can’t stop wondering what Mr. Stark’s goatee would feel like against his skin. 

Or no, dreams are the worst. Especially when they haunt him all day and make him wonder if Mr. Stark might let him unbutton his shirt or take off his waistcoat at least…

Great, now Peter’s thinking about Mr. Stark in a waistcoat again. 

“His only stipulation is to put no more than one button between him and his coffee,” Ned summarizes. “Oh my god, this is so freaking cool!”

It takes Peter a moment until he’s rerouted his brain back to the present. 

“So you’ll help me?” he asks. With anyone else, he’d worry his tone is too needy, but not with Ned. “I’d do it myself but I’m nowhere near as good with the wiring and my code would probably make him run off and never come back, so…” 

“Dude, you don’t even have to ask. Let’s take it apart today, then go to that thrift store on eleventh and check if Takagi has some used motherboards we can repurpose after your shift tomorrow.”

That’s exactly what they do. Midnight comes and goes after another weirdly busy evening, leaving Peter even more exhausted than he usually is. It’s a different kind of exhaustion, though – the good kind, the kind that Peter remembers from when he was still a member of the robotics lab, the kind where your body’s shutting down but your mind’s still processing and leaping ahead. 

Good thing, then, that getting a test from Mr. Stark – because it is a test, Peter’s sure of it, there’s no other explanation for why a genius engineer would ask a teenager to fix their machine for them – is proving to be a far better stimulant than any energy drink Peter’s ever had. 

It’s also strangely… erotic. 

Which isn’t helping when he’s trying to fall asleep in their tiny apartment with super thin walls and May’s insomnia acting up again. 

But anyway, Ned has to be home by nine that Saturday which leaves Peter alone on the upper floor of the empty coffee shop with only a cheap floodlight and an almost finished coffee maker for company. 

At least until someone knocks on the glass on the ground floor. 

The upper level has a railing that allows people to check how long the queue at the counter is, but it also provides an unimpeded view of the front door. 

There’s a male figure in a zip hoodie and jeans with holes at the knees. No gun... But what kind of thief knocks?

His ringtone jolts Peter out of his thoughts. Unknown number, what the…

“Hello?”

“Let me in, kid. I’ve been in meetings all day and I need caffeine.”

Peter does a double take. Now that he knows who it is, he recognizes the shape as Mr. Stark. How did he get Peter’s number? Did he hack his phone? More pressing, though – Tony Stark owns jeans? And a zip hoodie? It’s so weird to see him without a waistcoat. 

“Don’t look so bewildered,” Mr. Stark says once Peter let him in and closed up again. 

“No, uh, I just didn’t expect – uh, it,” he swallows, “it suits you.”

“The not-suit suits me. You’re quite the charmer.” Mr. Stark winks. 

Peter flees to the counter in order to hide the way his face heats. It's not like he's a virgin, not _per se_ , but the little kissing he did with Liz before she moved and the weird ... _thing_ with Jason last summer have done little to prepare him for Tony Stark flirting – _flirting_ – with him. 

The man gulps down his first cup of Jersey Java like a drowning man. Peter fetches a thermos with a grin. 

“Or do you want me to lay a central line?” he offers. “I have basic first aid training.” 

To his surprise, Mr. Stark tilts his head briefly, genuinely considering it. “Nah, Pepper would kill me. Imagine the headlines...”

Peter tries, but nothing comes to mind. Then the other man laughs and Peter feels like an idiot. 

“Ha, your face, kid! Come on, show me what you've been doing to my machine.” 

Mr. Stark follows him upstairs where he surveys the mess with an approving curl of his lips, then contends himself with watching Peter finish his work. It's as if a teacher were standing right behind him during finals, only... not. 

Especially when Peter applies lube. 

To the _joints_ – the joints of the robot, which need lubrication to ease the friction and Peter can tell that Mr. Stark finds it just as funny as he does. Only Mr. Stark doesn’t blush while thinking it; he just smirks wider. 

By the time Peter places the tube back on the floor next to him, he’s sure he’ll never be able to build a robot again without very vivid mental images. 

“Ah yes, good old Tribology,” Mr. Stark says, somehow making every word sound dirty. “The beauty of wear, friction, and lubrication…” 

Peter licks his lips nervously and he swears Mr. Stark was tracing the movement. Their eyes meet across the plastic-covered floor. 

“Where’d you learn all this?” 

The question both breaks the moment and catches him off guard. Peter can’t hide the grief that still rises to the surface after all this time. 

“I’m, uh, I’m mostly self-taught... but my uncle explained the basics. He wasn’t an expert but he was good enough to fix stuff around the house.” 

Peter grabs the tube again since one of the previous joints still looks a little dry. He expects another pun but there is only silence.

“Ben had no idea how to put things back together,” he continues after a beat, “which was, uh, well… But he never stopped me from taking them apart and then we… We fixed them together.”

Peter’s throat feels tight, all of a sudden. 

“Let me guess, then you started upgrading your family’s toaster?”

“Ha, pretty much,” he confirms with a chuckle, then takes a deep breath and asks before he can stop himself, “Is that what you did?” 

Mr. Stark’s eyes flash with something Peter can’t quite name. 

“Uh,” he backpedals, “I mean, only if you don’t mind me asking, sir.”

If Peter didn’t know better, Mr. Stark actually cringes at the honorific, which feeds into a shake of the man’s head. 

“No,” Mr. Stark says, “but I do mind that you're calling me ‘sir’ when you’re arms deep in the machine that’ll give me life.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, s– I’m sorry. But, uh… What else should I call you?” 

Mr. Stark gives him a flat look. “How about ‘Tony’.”

Peter opens his mouth but he has no words. He can process physics and chemistry in the blink of an eye but now everything grinds to a halt. If his brain had an error code, it would be flashing right now – Tony Stark, allowing him to be on first-name basis with him? That’s just, that’s, oh my god, it’s –

“You got oil on your face, kid.”

Peter blinks at the finger pointing at his right cheek. His breath is coming in rapid spurts and his pulse is racing… oh, shit. Great. There’s nothing like almost hyperventilating in front of your personal hero to round off your day.

Yet the look in Mr. Stark’s eyes has no pitying edge to it, which throws Peter more than seeing the man in casual clothes. 

“O-oil?” he manages. 

“Yeah, on your,” Mr. Stark motions to his own face. “And your hand.”

Peter glances around and finds the culprit: a small pool of oil that must have leaked from the tube. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, picking it up, “I’m usually a lot neater than –”

“Ha, bullshit,” Mr. Stark interrupts. “You should see me in the workshop, kid, if there ain’t dirt under your fingernails, then you’re doing this wrong. Or your clothes. That’s the entire reason I developed that laundry detergent product line, cause I kept messing up my favorite tees tinkering with the Audi.” 

Woah... Peter might have found his ultimate fantasy. Tony Stark, sliding out from underneath his car in stained jeans and a tank top, asking Peter to join him, their arms brushing as they work side-by-side until the tension gets unbeara– 

Shit, Peter needs to do something to distract himself or else this situation going to get really, really awkward… 

Only he totally forgot that he’s still holding the leaky tube of robotic lubricant in his hands which he’s been accidentally squeezing in his fidgeting and – with a slurping sound – it expels enough of the liquid that it makes a sizable _splash_ when it hits the plastic-covered ground. 

Specks of lube land on Peter’s clothes though the biggest blotch by far ends up on the sleeve of Tony Stark’s hoodie. 

Peter feels his eyes widen in horror.

Yet before Peter knows what’s happening, Mr. Stark wipes off the oil with one hand and smears it on Peter’s other cheek. Peter retaliates the only way he can think of – the rational part of his brain’s a bit preoccupied with _‘Tony Stark touched me!’_ – that is by catapulting more liquid at the other man whose eyes are dancing with a challenge Peter has no reason not to rise to. 

A huge bead hits Mr. Stark right in the chest, inches above where Peter knows the arc reactor to be. The man narrows his eyes at Peter. 

“Oh, you’ll regret this,” he grumbles, then – shit, gets to his feet. 

But Peter is faster. He cuts across the floor to the stairs, where Mr. Stark almost catches up with him, but he has ten years of gymnastics on his résumé so Peter simply leaps over the counter and turns towards Mr. Stark – Tony – with a smirk. 

“Impressive,” Tony agrees. Peter’s stomach jolts. “But ultimately in vain.” 

He raises his hand – oh, oh, the lube gun. Why didn't Peter think to pick it up?

Tony places a hand on the counter and … jumps over it. It’s hot, really hot, and it’s only when the first shot from the lube gun hits his jaw that Peter remembers to hightail it. 

He runs into the back, slides over the now-cleared steel table where May and he had dinner earlier, then ducks and crawls underneath it to the other exit while Tony is checking for him behind a shelf. 

Peter looks back over his shoulder as he re-enters the shop – 

And collides with Tony, who apparently figured out that the way they came is in fact the quicker one. 

Peter gasps but any other sound dies in his throat when he realizes how close he is to Tony Stark. 

The man’s laughing, the corners of his eyes crinkling with it. One of his hands has caught Peter’s wrist, stopping another attack from the tube he’s still clutching, while Peter’s free hand tracks the lube gun to block any possible shot. 

Peter knows the nuances of Tony’s smiles – not in a creepy way, mind you, he just can’t help it with a brain like his. Enough exposure and it catalogues stuff, and over the years he’s developed a scale: from the tense, forced smile at the press conference after Afghanistan to the smug grins of the Stark Expo 2010 or the secret, soft smile caught on camera during Mrs. Potts and Mr. Hogan’s wedding… Peter knows them all. 

He has never seen this. This smile lights up Tony’s entire body, it changes the feeling of the room and takes Peter’s breath away. 

Tony must have noticed the shift in atmosphere, too, for he stills his movements and looks Peter right in the eye. His pulse stutters – is he really going to…? 

A key turns in the lock. 

They both jump apart – it’s May, her attention focused on the lock as she opens the door, enters, and closes it behind her. Right, they didn’t switch on the light on the lower floor before they... 

“Hi, May!” he says, maybe a little too loudly. 

He’s only a handful of steps away from the switch for the dim overhead lights so he ambles over while May startles and turns around. She’s dressed for an evening with her best friends, makeup and everything. So maybe that’s why she doesn’t look mad. 

“You must be Peter's sister,” Tony says before Peter can think of an awkward introduction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

May laughs, surprised, and widens her eyes at Peter as she shakes Tony’s proffered hand. Peter’s heart is still beating a staccato against his ribcage and the possibilities of how this particular meeting could go do nothing to calm him down. 

“Thank you. I’m his aunt, actually.” She turns to Peter and her smile drops somewhat. “Care to explain why you’re still here? And covered in oil?”

“Totally my fault,” Tony speaks up. “I came to check on the progress and things escalated a bit. No permanent damage.”

“And it’s not that late,” Peter argues. 

May stares at him. 

Tony coughs, clicks something on his watch, which projects a clock face into the air. 

It’s a few minutes shy of eleven, which sends Peter off in a rush to clear away the tools upstairs and close off the staircase again. He’s double-timing it to give his aunt as little time as possible alone with Tony – Tony, he’s allowed to say that, Peter can’t even – and skids to a halt next to them not even two minutes later. 

May smiles at him. “Mr. Stark is kind enough to drive us home.”

“Wow, that’s, uh, thank you, sir, I –”

“It’s Tony, Peter. Aren’t you supposed to be a genius?” Tony starts moving towards the door. “And it’s no trouble, ‘s not like I’m driving.”

Outside, there’s a black Audi waiting. 

There’s no driver in the car. 

“Oh my – I read about this, is this the prototype? Is it true that it has a five-star NHTSA rating? And that it comes with part of the new AI I’ve heard rumors about?”

May pushes him towards the back door with a nervous chuckle. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I did teach him manners, all evidence to the contrary.”

“Nah, I like that he’s so eager,” Tony says, eyes on Peter who feels a blush creep up his neck. Then Tony pulls up the hood of his zip jacket and Peter almost misses what the man says next. “Text me when you’re done with the machine. I’ll come by and we can set it up in the tower.”

Peter stares after him. May pulls him into the backseat of the car, the driverless car, and gets in herself. The door clicks shut, which finally pulls Peter back to reality. 

“Oh, I don’t have his…” he begins, but then his phone dings with a new text message. 

_From: TS_  
_You do have my number._

Peter’s laugh borders on hysterical. 

“Are you okay?” May’s brow creases with concern. “It’s not too much, is it? That was the deal, Peter, you get to work on this if it doesn’t interfere with work or school.”

“No, no, it’s fine, just a little…” Peter trails off. 

“Overwhelming?”

“Yeah…”

Silence falls. Peter listens for the hum of the engine but there’s only the faint whirl of the electric motor. Peter’s never driven across the Queensboro Bridge in a car, not at night. 

“You can tell him no, you know.” 

“Huh?”

“Mr. Stark,” May clarifies. “You can tell him you’re too busy. You can't ignore other commitments you made just because Tony Stark saunters in, Peter. I raised you better than that. Or at least I tried.”

“You did! You really did, May. I, uh… I told him no, kinda? The first time he came into the shop?”

He hasn’t mentioned the huge tip he lost out on to May because they’re struggling enough as it is and he feared she’d be angry. It’s hard to gauge how she’ll react to things at the moment. Last week she didn’t like him missing out on dinner for a Neighborhood Avengers thing even though she’d okayed it a few days earlier. It’s another variable Peter has to consider, with no clue as to how it’ll affect his plans. 

Today, though, May’s eyes water and she pulls him close, muttering, “That’s my boy,” in a way that makes Peter’s throat close up again. “Ben would be proud of you.”

Peter tightens his arms around her. 

They remain like this, breathing and hugging against the soft leather of the driverless car, until it stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **EDIT 08-08-2017:** 500 kudos! OMG, I can't even - thank you all so much! This fic is still keeping me sane and to have it so well received is a wonderful thing  <3


	6. six

“JARVIS?” 

“Yes, sir?”

Tony watches the car’s GPS signal come to a stop outside a tall housing construction in Queens. 

“Hypothetically... how much trouble would I be in if I slept with a sixteen-year-old?” 

“Four years in prison, sir, not to mention the devastating effects on Stark Industries.” 

That reply came much too quickly. Tony pulls down his glasses to squint at the nearest camera. 

“Back up, buddy – have you thought about this?” 

“As part of the Bahrain Protocol, it is standard procedure for me to calculate the risks posed by your sexual companions once your interest has become evident.” 

Tony curses under his breath. “For the last time, I didn’t sleep with that bartender! And he was 19; in any sane country no one would have batted an eye!”

“You were informed prior to your visit of the high age of consent in the country, sir.” 

“Sounded like a cruel joke,” Tony grumbles. “Like this – four years? Really?”

“If you were closer in age, sir, a ‘Romeo and Juliet exemption’ could be applied to the situation.”

“You saying I’m too old for him?” 

“My projections regarding public opinion suggest that a majority of your customers would take offense at a hypothetical relationship between Mr. Parker and yourself.” 

“Woah, woah, woah, no one’s talking about a relationship, J, just some after school special... okay, scratch that, I realize how creepy that sounds.”

“Will you stop pursuing him then, sir?” 

“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” 

“Sir, I really must protest –”

“Don’t get your electrons in a twist, JARVIS,” Tony interrupts. As amusing as JARVIS’s mother-henning is, Tony has _some_ self-preservation skills left. “I’m stopping for now. He’s gonna reach the age of consent eventually... right?” 

A beat.

“Mr. Parker will be of age under New York State law on his 17th birthday.”

Tony huffs. “I get it, you don’t approve, fucking noted. Now tell me his birth date.”

“As a computer I am not programmed to have an opinion,” JARVIS honest-to-god _sniffs_. “I’m merely raising concerns in accordance with my projections, which, while excluding criminal repercussions after Mr. Parker’s birthday, still show a detrimental effect on both your reputation and business should information about your involvement become –”

“Zip it,” Tony snaps. “Peter’s birthday, now.”

JARVIS is silent for another petulant second. Seriously, who’s the teenager in this scenario?

“February, 19th, 2001.” 

_2001._

Fuck, the kid’s really young. He’s also way mature for his age, has a gifted mind and can hold his own in conversations with Tony. And he seems to be interested, too, judging by the incredibly hot round of foreplay tonight.

Tony feels his blood rushing south just thinking about that almost-kiss. 

“Start the shower, J.”

Half an hour later, as Tony gasps in release, one thing becomes clear to him: There’s no way he’ll be able to keep his hands to himself tomorrow without a plan. Something to recontextualize their dynamic because coffee-centric innuendo is gonna spell disaster.

“JARVIS,” Tony asks once the water shuts off, “can you access the coffee shop’s financial records?” 

There’s no reply, but then again, it was more of a rhetorical question. 

*

“Sir, I am to remind you of your meeting with Brian Remy and Yasmine McKenna in one hour at 8.30 AM.”

Tony groans, more from how stiff his body feels after falling asleep on the workshop couch than the upcoming meeting. 

JARVIS drones on. “I am also to remind you that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“Says the computer who doesn’t eat,” Tony mumbles, then swings his legs off the sofa. “I’m up! Which one was Remy again? The boring accountant?”

“Mr. Remy and Miss McKenna are the heads of your Marketing department.”

“Ah… and which of these vampires decided to start at 8.30?” 

“That would be you, sir,” is JARVIS’s cool response. 

Tony pauses in front of the elevator. “Did I mean it as a joke?”

“My vocal analysis of your suggestion would support that hypothesis, sir.”

“Wonderful…”

Tony throws on one of his suits in record time, checks his reflection in the mirror, hesitates for a moment since the shirt’s material is on the thinner side and he can make out the faint glow of the arc reactor underneath the fabric, then ultimately decides it’s too early to be that vain. 

Besides, it’ll be an experiment to see how Peter reacts to it. 

*

Very favorably, as it turns out. 

The kid’s face lights up with a smile as Tony enters _The Hybrid Puppy_ and it doesn’t lose any of its intensity when Peter’s eyes dart to his chest for a moment. 

He’s the only one working. The shop isn’t too busy but Tony feels people’s eyes on him, putting two and two together. Any second now, the first idiotic soul will request an autograph.

“Good morning, Mr. – Tony!” Peter begins and corrects, though to Tony’s utter lack of surprise he doesn’t leave it at that. “Uh, sorry, that made it sound like you’re Mr. Tony but you’re – I mean, obviously, uh…” Peter takes a deep breath. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Tony echoes with a smirk. 

He meets Peter’s gaze across the counter. Peter swallows and licks his lips and Tony hasn’t been awake long enough to master the self-control required _not_ to look.

_Right._

Tony clears his throat. “I’m here to pay my tab. I remember drinking inhuman amounts of coffee last night but never paying for it. Which is good, cause usually I don’t remember what I did to get my tabs.” 

“Oh! I, uh,” Peter stammers, then coughs until he has his voice back. 

Mentally, Tony preens. Yes, the attraction is definitely mutual. 

“Of course… Tony.” Peter’s smile returns, like it’s the highlight of his day to be allowed to use Tony’s first name. Well, it better – Tony’s stingy with who gets that privilege. “Would you like breakfast first?” 

“Yeah, I don’t care what, but something to go. Got a meeting in,” he checks his watch, using the movement to sweep the room to plot the path of least resistance when leaving. He spots at least two cell phones directed at him already. “In fifteen minutes. Ugh… I don’t know how Pepper does it.”

“By having an aptitude for management and team dynamics?” Peter suggests on his way to the coffee machine, where he starts the brewing process. 

“You read that in a book, kid?”

“TED talk, actually.” Peter smirks at him. “Mrs. Potts said so herself.”

That jogs Tony’s memory. “Ha, that was a fun day. They wanted me to speak again when we announced the new OS but then I asked why I should waste my time talking about something maybe two percent of people on the planet would be smart enough to follow – and that’s a generous estimate, actually – or why I should be preparing a speech when I could be beta-testing the new cyber-security protocols. They stopped bugging me after that.”

Over at the glass case, Peter is still grinning. “You just didn’t want to explain StarkVision.”

Tony chuckles. “That, too. Let the kids figure it out for themselves.”

“Then it’ll forever stay a mystery.”

“Oh?”

“Or, well – that’s what Ned says. He’s brilliant but he’s been trying to get to the base code since it launched. He’s sure it can’t be done.”

Tony leans in. “What about you?”

It’s rewarding to see Peter lose the momentum he’s been gaining and slip back into his usual flustered stammering, all because Tony is leaning over the counter. 

“I, well, uh… I’m not sure? I’m not a programmer,” he explains, his tone apologetic. “I mean I know how to code, we all get basic lessons at Midtown but, um, I know my limits.”

“So how’d my coffee machine get that new algorithm? You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice, right?” 

Tony can guess, but it’s fun to watch Peter blush his way through placing a bagel and a muffin in a paper bag. 

“That was – I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to, but I figured better be on the safe side than screw up your – uh, so I asked Ned. To help, I mean. I hope that –” 

Tony eventually takes pity on him. “Relax, Peter. You did the right thing. Took me a lot longer to learn that lesson.”

And there’s that smile again. _Jesus…_ Tony just wants to kiss it off his face. 

Nope, that’s _not the plan_ .

The plan is to pay for his tab, and the breakfast, which Tony does. He mouths “Text me when you’re done” at Peter since there are too many recording devices in the vicinity and Tony knows better than to tempt fate. 

He even makes it to the meeting on the fashionable side of late which becomes infinitely more entertaining courtesy of the stream of texts Peter begins to send him after nine. 

**From: Peter**

[09:11 AM]  
_Someone tweeted a picture of you here._

[09:11 AM]  
_At the shop._

[09:13 AM]  
_Now everyone’s asking if you’re a regular. Are you?_

[09:15 AM]  
_This is Peter, by the way._

[09:15 AM]  
_Parker._

[09:25 AM]  
_I’m saying you’re a regular. It’s good for business ;-)_

“Something funny, Mr. Stark?”

Tony lifts his eyes back to the presentation projected against the wall. Maybe he shouldn’t check his phone during the part about work-related deaths.

“Yeah, it’s funny how you’re acting like I don’t know the numbers. Or the polling – seriously, what d’you all think I do all day? Rub one out in the workshop?” 

Tony usually isn’t that vulgar (or rather, isn’t anymore ever since in-house counsel gave him that sexual harassment seminar) but he discovered it’s the best way to annoy Miss McKenna, who’s so prim there should be some law against it. Pepper calls her ‘sophisticated’, Tony calls her frigid. She’s even wearing _pearls_ , for fuck’s sake. 

“Where’d you think the safety updates come from?” Granted, part of that is JARVIS, but since Tony created him it’s basically the same. “That’s something I can solve. Those numbers, though?” 

He rises and takes over the slides, flipping through them until he has fast-forwarded to the latest statistics on SI’s reputation and public opinion. 

“That’s _your_ job to solve. So what’s the plan?”

Like that, a meeting that would have droned on for another four hours was over and done with in just two. Tony is almost out the door when McKenna stops him. 

“One last suggestion,” McKenna adds. “A little out-of-the-box, yes, but we thought it might be good for Stark Industries to become more involved on a local level. Like buying the waste lagoons in North Carolina and using the sludge to provide energy to the affected communities – something that shows to the, you know, the ‘little guy’ that we’re more than just a company out for profits.” 

“We propose to allocate a certain budget to begin a pilot project here in Manhattan,” Remy says. “We’ve prepared a list of possible ventures to support for maximum positive effect on our image.”

Tony accepts the document Remy pushes to his phone from his StarkPad and quickly scans the list as well as the proposed sum. 

“I’ll email you my notes.”

They nod. 

And hover. 

Ugh, Tony hates how his fame means that people are afraid to ask questions – important questions, like ‘Will that be all?’, not ‘Can you record a birthday message for my second cousin in Oklahoma?’

Tony heaves a sigh. “That was your cue. Come on. Skedaddle.”

“About the pilot project –”

“Just in general, Mr. Stark –” 

“Christ, it’s like pre-school in here… Yes, for those of you who’ve never heard of subtext, in general I approve. But I gotta do my own research on the places on this list before I drop several million dollars on them – who’d you think I am, Donald Trump?”

That leaves them adequately chastised and gives Tony an excuse to delve into the records of _The Hybrid Puppy_. If he presents his offer neatly gift-wrapped in a shiny pilot project, the odds of irrational pride getting in the way of Peter accepting it don’t look too shabby. 

*

Tony would have missed Peter’s text if JARVIS weren't under strict orders to pause the classic rock blasting from the workshop speakers as soon as the kid gives the green light.

It’s later than Tony expected but reviewing the footage of the past hours reveals an unusual influx of customers throughout the day. When Tony gets there, though, the coffee shop is back to its usual moderate crowd. 

Peter, still in the beige shirt with the _Hybrid Puppy_ logo and slim-fit jeans, is waiting for him at the foot of the stairs to the upper level and opens the cordon for him. He misjudges how much energy would be required, though, almost tearing down the entire contraption.

Tony steadies it before it can hit the floor and draw even more eyes than are on him already anyway. He spares a fleeting thought to SI’s social media coordinator who's bound to complain that he’s wearing the same suit as this morning… Too bad Tony doesn’t give a shit how paparazzi pay their bills.

“You're supposed to sell the coffee, kid, not drink it,” Tony teases.

“I didn’t! Oh, you were– sorry. It's kinda hard to think words again, not vectors.” 

Tony chuckles his way up the stairs until the machine comes into view.

There’s a person in a _‘Han shot first’_ t-shirt. That person is much too young to truly get the joke. And that person’s fidgeting.

Given all that Peter has told him these past few days, Tony assumes this must be Ned. And judging by how Peter rushes across the floor with an embarrassed wince, Ned is not supposed to still be here. 

“Man, I thought you said you had to help your mom!” 

“Yeah, but my sister, she got out early, so she could help her, so...” Ned trails off with a shrug about as smooth as Luke’s first forays into the Force. 

Turns out lying isn’t an AP course at that genius school they go to. Tony’s been wondering.

“Please don’t be weird,” Peter whispers. 

“I think that ship has sailed,” Tony pipes up. He keeps his face blank. 

Predictably, both boys’ heads spin around, eyes wide. But where Ned has the look of a die-hard fanboy meeting the person they cosplayed as last Halloween, Peter’s has lost the reverent edge it had during their first two encounters. About time, really.

As nonchalantly as he can, Tony produces his phone to check the time, if only for dramatic effect. He hears Ned stifle what would have been an incredibly annoying sound at the sight of the new prototype and has to fight off a smirk. 

“Car’s pulling up in three minutes,” Tony says, then looks directly at Ned. “You, Han. You good to help Peter carry this monster?”

“O-of course, Mr. Stark! We’ve actually calculated the amount of force needed and we’re definitely okay to do it ourselves.” 

Tony keeps his doubts to himself. 

As expected, Ned’s confidence in their calculations doesn’t translate to real-life manual skills. 

Tony is torn between funding a ‘Life Skills 101’ class and getting the popcorn as he watches Peter and his best friend heft the contraption up a small wagon, push it through the back rooms to the freight elevator, then struggle through getting the entire thing over the gap _into_ the elevator... and repeat the dance once the doors open.

The only reason Tony isn’t tearing his hair out is that this ridiculous process allows him to enjoy the great view of Peter’s ass.

“You sure I can’t lend a hand?” 

“No, Mr. Stark, we’re, we’re okay,” Ned huffs while Peter is biting his lip like he’s worried this is going to make him lose the trip to the workshop. So Tony throws him a bone and winks as he leans back against the wall across the elevator door, hands in his pockets.

Peter’s fingers lose their grip briefly but they’re back on the wagon before Ned can notice. Tony did, though. The tips of Peter’s ears turn red. 

The boys manage to get both the coffee machine and themselves in the car eventually, but it comes at a price before Ned _finally_ leaves. If Tony has to suffer through one more “Oh my god, a driverless car, how is it safe?” monologue, then he’s going to reprogram the software and let it locate everyone who's logging a complaint – on _any_ platform – and run them the fuck over.

At least Ned’s babbling hints at an understanding of the underlying framework, so Tony might let him live. Okay, and he’s Peter's friend. Tony doesn't know how the kid reacts to grief and the chances of it negatively affecting his libido are –

“I’m sorry, Tony, I thought he’d left and – that was awkward and I didn’t want to - I mean, you said in – I mean, you said once that you prefer peace and quiet when you’re out and...” Peter shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it. As far as over enthusiastic fans go, Ted wasn’t that bad.” 

“That’s, yeah, that’s good. Uh, and it’s Ned.” 

“My bad,” Tony says in a ‘whatever’ tone. Peter is still under the illusion that Tony barely remembers names – a carefully constructed myth Tony greatly enjoys to this day. There’s nothing better to knock Mark Zuckerberg down a notch than calling him Matt. Speaking of remembering… “Guess I must’ve been thinking of that ancient Ted talk you just quoted at me. How’d you even find that?” 

“How did I – oh, um, completely random.” 

Tony pretends to believe him as the car pulls into Tony’s private garage. The doors open automatically with a soft _click_ , and off they are. 

The garage is actually just an extension of the workshop, yet with some semblance of order since he’s not the only using it. 

Peter zips from car to car like a puppy in a pet toy store. 

“Are they yours?” he asks in awe. 

“Most. Some are Pepper’s.” 

“So,” Peter says, drawing out the ‘o’, “the tidier ones belong to her?”

“Careful you don’t slip on that sass, kid,” Tony shoots back. “And say hi to JARVIS. JARVIS, meet Peter Parker.” 

“Hello, Mr. Parker.”

“Woah!” Peter turns on the spot. 

Tony can see the surprise, then the recognition, then the _‘Where are the sensors?’_ spiel that happens with all smart people he introduces to his AI. It always ends in one of two ways: either the person asks Tony or they come to the – correct – conclusion that the sensors are everywhere and intentionally unobtrusive. 

Three guesses which group Peter belongs to.

“Hi JARVIS,” Peter says to the room at large and Tony wants to lick into his mouth again. “It’s nice to meet you!”

All JARVIS says in return is a cool “Likewise,” which has Tony narrow his eyes and mouth an “We'll talk about this later” at the nearest sensor.

That’s when Butterfingers and Dummy whirl around the corner and Tony has to suddenly juggle three psyched entities who all want to be helpful. That they eventually manage to install the coffee machine in its rightful place borders on a miracle.

Peter demonstrates its usability and Tony has his first cup in one minute forty-seven seconds.

“Ngh, what blend is this?”

Peter’s grin widens. “Our house blend. I made it myself!”

“Can I order a life-long flat rate of the stuff?” Tony asks after another big gulp. 

“Uh, sure, I’ll... come back to deliver it?” Peter’s voice has slowed down to half his usual speed.

Tony catches the subtle glances around the workshop. He places the mug back under the dispenser, pushes a button and arches an eyebrow at Peter. 

“Want a tour?”

Peter looks like Tony offered him a car or something. Or a StarkPhone. Which isn’t such a bad idea... no, later. Tour first.

If Tony had any doubts whether Peter deserves the investment Tony’s planning to make in his family’s shop, the next two hours dispel them all and any future doubts as to Peter’s talents.

The kid bounces after him from work station to work station, positively vibrating with energy and overflowing with questions. They’re the type of enquiries Tony expects from the crowd at Tech Con, not a sixteen-year-old barista. He’s also adequately impressed with Tony’s arc-powered-driverless-car-endeavors and the prototype for a hologram projector in a shiny little orb form. 

“What's that?” 

Tony follows where Peter’s finger is pointing and wrinkles his nose. 

“That, young man, is eternal proof that you should never listen to an inebriated Bruce Banner. And while you _might_ think that experimenting with cutting-edge adhesive technologies is a good idea, let me tell you… developing what’s basically super-glue coming off a thirty-six hour science marathon as well as a boring fundraiser – with good champagne – is definitely not it.”

Tony pokes the sad, milky-white lump for effect... only it doesn’t budge. Right, this thing’s been sticking to the table like a tongue to metal in subzero temperatures since their experiment failed. Yet to Peter, for some reason, it looks fascinating enough that he gets up and close to it. 

“Did you try to mimic spider webs?”

Tony heaves a sigh. “ _Try_ being the operative word. Haven’t had time to give it another go."

Peter surveys the room again, a longing in his eyes that Tony hopes will one day be directed at him if he plays his cards right.

“Pretty cool, huh? Or what do you call it these days? Fly? Wicked?”

Peter laughs. “Dude, where’d you hear those? No, uh, we’re calling it stark. It’s the, uh, the it-word right now.”

Tony squints at the kid. Then he shoves him playfully cause, “You’re full of shit.”

“Couldn’t resist,” Peter says with an innocent smile. Tony returns it but with a darker edge and is rewarded with a faint blush and some more stammering as Peter gestures wildly around the room. 

“But it’s, it’s really cool, uh, all of this stuff… And helpful! That water filter alone… The, the world’s really lucky to have you.”

Peter isn’t looking at him, but still the sincerity of it carries. It carries and drops on an unsuspecting Tony, so he completely misses the window for a snarky reply.

The effect such words have on him must be written all over Tony’s face – it doesn’t take long to school his expression but the damage is done, his mask has slipped, shit, how stupid can one person be? Now Peter’s looking at him and there’s tension and buildup and Tony is only human, _screw the plan –_

“Sir, in accordance with Protocol Hypoglycemia I wish to remind you that ten hours have passed since your last meal. I recommend sustenance.”

Brilliant... Cockblocked by JARVIS.

Tony draws a deep breath. 

They will definitely have words later. 

For now, Tony puts a stop to Peter’s retreat and “I should be going anyway” nonsense and announces, “We’re ordering in. JARVIS, menus.”

Said menus appear projected into the air a moment later, just as Peter promises that “Really, Tony, it’s okay, I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”

“Pfft, trouble,” Tony snorts, spreading his arms with a flourish. “Billionaire, remember? Oh no, I get it now – buying you some masala will really stress my wallet…” 

He leans back against the nearest worktable, resting his weight on his hands. 

“Come on, Peter,” he continues, all sarcasm gone from his voice. “Let me treat you to dinner.”

Peter swallows, drawing Tony’s eyes to the line of his neck. Maybe the universe doesn’t hate him after –

RING. 

Tony wants to bang his head against the wall. He jinxed it, damn it!

Peter’s already scrambling to get to his phone. Tony thinks he catches “Mr. Delmar” on the caller ID, but he wouldn’t bet his vinyl collection on it. 

What he would bet it on is that whatever Mr. Delmar says to Peter is far from good. 

“Is there music playing?” Peter asks, biting his lip. The reply makes him blanch and whisper, “Wh-what kind?”

Then Peter loses what’s left of the color in his cheeks. 

“I’ll be right there!” He hangs up, already moving towards where he dropped his backpack, at the first workstation near the garage. “I, I have to go, I’m so sorry.”

Tony jogs after him. “Where’d you have to go? Queens?” A curt nod. “You need a ride?”

Peter’s eyes widen briefly and he probably would have declined, no trouble, yada yada yada, but whatever happened makes him stifle his protests. 

Tony almost offers to drive him in person. But he doesn’t want Peter to be distracted by whatever’s going on when he takes him for their first ride together and –

_No. Bad phrasing. Mind out of the gutter, now._

Where was he? Right, Peter, car, Queens. Tony sends him off with “Rain-check on the dinner, then?” that he doubts the kid heard, which nope, doesn’t sting at all. It’s possible for people to ignore him, really. Totally fine. Utterly common. 

“JARVIS,” Tony says once Peter is truly gone.

“Yes, sir?”

“First of all, fuck you, buddy.”

“I’m not entirely sure how you imagine I could comply with that order, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah, cut the crap, J. What the fuck was that, huh? And don’t you dare throw the Bahrain Protocol at me, J, we both know that’s bullshit.”

“All my actions are designed to protect you, sir. That is my prime directive.”

“Your prime directive should have exemptions for kissing cute baristas.”

He doesn’t even get a reply to that. Tony rolls his eyes. Well, time for a change of topic anyway. 

“JARVIS. Tell me about May Parker.” 

“Sir, may I remind you –”

“Later, J, info first. Oh, and monitor all outgoing calls, inform me the second Peter calls nine-one-one.”

A pause. “As you wish, sir.”

*

Mr. Delmar is waiting in the corridor between his apartment and theirs, a plastic box cradled in his hands. Peter rushes past him with a nod, keys already out. 

Lead pools in Peter’s stomach at the soft tones of Vivaldi that come from their apartment and he almost drops the keys twice before finally pushing into the rooms. 

May isn’t on the sofa. The stereo is turned up loud enough to be heard throughout the flat. 

_Oh please, no…_

Peter sprints to the bathroom, freezes just before reaching the open door for a last moment of blinding panic before he swallows it all down and continues on a shaky exhale. 

It’s empty. No blood. 

The medicine cabinet door is ajar. 

“No, no, no,” Peter mutters under his breath, cutting across the living room with Mr. Delmar’s worried eyes tracking his movements as he bursts into May’s bedroom. 

She’s on the bed, curled up underneath the covers. Peter feels paralyzed because she’s so still, _why is she so still…_

She doesn’t react either when he feels for her carotid artery, holding his breath so he doesn’t miss her pulse, where is it –

There. 

Peter’s entire body sags in relief. He wants to cry but footsteps remind him of their neighbor still hovering outside so he schools his expression and goes back into the living room. 

“She’s just sleeping,” he says. “She hasn’t been able to, you know, this past week, and uh, I guess she needed the early night?”

Mr. Delmar has known them long enough to read between the lines. He leaves the container of food with a tense smile and returns to his own place. Peter is next to May’s side moments later. Just to calm his nerves he checks her pulse again. His feet bump against something on the floor it. 

The telltale sound of pills in a plastic bottle as it rolls a few inches. 

Peter crouches down, picks it up and opens it with renewed dread… 

But everything’s fine, there are only two less than yesterday. Peter squeezes his eyes shut and presses the palms of his hands against the lids, but the burning sensation doesn’t go away. 

_She’s fine, she’ll wake up tomorrow, everything’s okay,_ Peter repeats like a mantra in his head until he has himself back under control. 

Then he remembers that tomorrow’s Monday and that two pills mean May won’t wake up until the morning, so she won’t be there to open the shop for 6 AM. 

“Ugh, I have a Spanish quiz on Tuesday, May,” Peter whines, if only because she can’t hear him. 

It’s not the first time he had to open and work the first three hours of May’s shift before school. It’s not fun but better than the alternative, which is so horrible that the thought alone gives Peter nightmares. He can’t lose her, too. 

So he replaces the pill bottle in the bathroom cabinet, switches off the music, and sets his alarm for five hours later before moving to his desk to finish his US History homework because he won’t have time before school. 

The contrast to just an hour ago is… _stark_. Peter grins into his book at the thought of Tony’s blatant come-ons, though his grin falls at the thought of the AI’s rude interruption. 

If an incredibly intelligent computer decides Tony Stark shouldn’t kiss Peter, then it’s only a short matter of time before Tony himself will realize Peter isn’t worth the attention. 

Well, Peter wonders with yet another look towards the bedroom. Maybe it’s better this way.


	7. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a good thing I've been pacing my updates a bit, since this week is shaping up to be incredibly challenging. But I'M SO EXCITED about this chapter! I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I did writing it and editing it :) 
> 
> PS: For those of you unfamiliar with Last Week Tonight, you can check it out on [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/user/LastWeekTonight).

After being so effectively interrupted – twice, with the second time ending in such a dramatic fashion – Tony meant to return to _The Hybrid Puppy_ the very next day to follow up on what happened, Tuesday at the latest.

Only problem: he didn’t calculate for human stupidity. 

Especially not the stupidity of his employees. 

“I’m really sorry,” the chief engineer says for what feels like the fiftieth time, shuffling closer and closer to the large arc reactor taking up half the R&D hall. “We thought we had it, but –”

“But obviously,” Tony talks over him, “you’re a bunch of pseudo engineers who confuse my company with a high school science fair or else you’d have contacted me a hell of a lot sooner.”

The guy, Phileas Mason or something, actually has the gall to protest. “It’s just, you’ve been busy –”

“I’m always busy, jeez! You really thought not speaking up would give you more job security than not informing me the very second, no, the very _nanosecond_ the reactor gave you trouble?”

The guy blanches. “Mr. Stark – ”

“Zip it, Mason,” Tony snaps. “I don’t wanna hear your excuses. This is supposed to power the entire city’s water grid!” He pats the outer ring of the decent-sized arc reactor, then raises his voice since everyone on site is listening in anyway. “This is our pilot project, people! We get this right, some day we’ll have the entire country hooked to self-sustaining energy sources!”

Tony heaves a sigh and runs a hand over his face. “Now,” he announces, “everybody out. Take ten. Hours, not minutes. I gotta figure this out and I don’t need amateurs looking over my shoulder. You,” he tells Mason, “report to HR. You’re done.”

“Mr. Stark, please, my wife’s expecting and –”

“You should’ve thought of that before risking to leave over eight million people without water.”

The chief engineer looks close to tears. Tony rolls his eyes. 

“Gawd, save your puppy eyes for HR, let them give you a severance package or whatever.” 

That seems to calm the guy a bit. Everyone else is still watching. 

Tony throws them a glare. “Why the hell are you still here?”

They scatter. 

Tony looks towards the record player near the kitchenette in the corner. 

“JARVIS? Drop my needle.”

Moments later, loud rock blasts through the hall.

*

Three days and as many all-nighters later, the arc reactor is running at optimal capacity and when Tony wakes up from his celebratory slumber, JARVIS has finally finished compiling the baby AI that’s going to operate the water supply system they’re taking over next month. 

So Tony devises a couple of test scenarios for the newly-minted 'KAREN’ who masters them with flying colors. 

JARVIS sounds like a proud parent when announcing the scores. 

Tony wonders if that makes him a grandfather… Probably. But instead of annoying crying and disgusting diapers, his offspring is reducing New York’s daily 30 million gallon leak and helping the –

“When is the last time you showered?”

Tony’s head jerks up. 

Judging by the sunlight, it could be either morning or evening.

Yasmine McKenna is pursing her lips at him from the door to his upstairs lab. She’s once again in pearls and an outfit that would only look good in a Hot Granny calendar, if that’s your thing. 

“What day is it?” Tony asks, glancing down his front. Oh yeah, changing his tank top would be a great idea. 

“Friday,” McKenna says, her tone bewildered, like forgetting time isn’t something that can happen to people in her universe. “There have been some glitches in the software.”

She stops there and looks at him expectantly. 

“Oh, was there a question in there somewhere?” 

Seriously, ‘the software’ could mean any of three hundred and sixty-seven separate systems – _literally_. She couldn’t have been more vague if she tried. 

McKenna continues unperturbed. “IT said they need your help. Nothing’s happened yet but we cannot afford for anything to go wrong in our very first week.”

First week, first week – oh, right, the Uber thing. Driverless cars replacing half their fleet. 

“Yeah, wouldn’t want you lot to have to do any real work for a change, would we?” Tony sneers and makes for the door. “Well, the software’s brand new, gotta work out a few bugs, I’m on it…” 

McKenna crosses her arms rather than move out of his way. 

“Shower first,” she orders. 

So Tony spends the next forty-eight hours bug hunting, which leads to another person losing their job – because you _do not change_ Tony’s code, for fuck’s sake, even if there aren’t lives on the line – and he’d probably have continued his own brand of overbearing CEO-ing for another few days… but on Sunday, two things happen. 

One, he runs out of coffee. Out of Peter’s self-made blend, on top of that. 

_Hmm, Peter…_

“JARVIS, the _Hybrid Puppy_ still open?”

“I’m afraid not,” comes the immediate reply, “given that it’s 11:25 PM on a Sunday night.”

 _Shit._ It’s been a week since he last saw the kid, Tony realizes. He’s gonna change that.

Before he can make a plan as to how, though, the second thing happens. 

Which is John bloody Oliver. 

“Sir,” JARVIS tells him, “there is a clip I believe you need to see.”

“I swear, J, if this is another cat video, I’m gonna –”

Then JARVIS starts the clip and Tony’s jaw snaps shut. 

Sure, Uber using SI tech to upgrade their fleet has been inciting some criticism, but now that this raccoon-faced boffin that calls himself a comedian has gone and found the deeper connection, everybody’s gonna cry about monopolization. As if that’s such a bad thing… 

And it’s not that Tony meant to hide the fact that Uber’s most recent owner is a subsidiary of Stark Industries, okay? It’s just that it tested better with focus groups. 

It takes fifteen minutes after _Last Week Tonight_ ended for Marketing to call Tony about damage control and fifteen hours to perfect the strategy for the inevitable press conference that Tony’s got to speak at. 

As expected, the room’s filled to capacity. 

Miranda from _The New Yorker_ has the first question, which is tediously predictable. “People are concerned driverless cars are unsafe. What would you tell them?”

He has a strict press-related eye-rolling ban – the last stipulation Pepper issued before she left – so Tony takes a second to force out a breath before going into the much-practiced spiel that contains a hell of a lot less expletives than what Tony originally wanted to say. 

“I’ve been using that tech myself for the past year and there wasn’t a single issue. I personally wrote the code, I _personally_ designed the larger framework. I’d go as far as to say using driverless cars is safer than one driven by a human.”

“But what about hackers?” 

It all goes downhill from there. 

Once it’s done, Tony needs the strongest coffee he can find, made by the city’s hottest barista. 

He slips into his incognito outfit of baseball cap, shades, ratty jeans and a threadbare band shirt over a long-sleeve tee that’s thick enough to hide the arc reactor before striding down Park Avenue. This way, with the goatee, everyone will think he’s nothing more than a Tony Stark fan. Oh, sweet irony. 

_The Hybrid Puppy_ is relatively busy, barely a free chair in sight, but there’s no line at the counter. 

Also no Peter. 

The girl behind the register looks vaguely familiar. Her name tag reads ‘Zinha’ but that doesn’t jog Tony’s memory. She clearly recognizes him, though.

“Hello sir, what can I get you?”

And doesn’t announce his presence to the entire shop. Tony decides he likes her. 

“Peter, if he’s working,” he says with his most charming grin. “He knows which blends I haven’t sampled yet.”

Zinha nods. “One moment.”

She steps out from behind the counter and walks around it into the back area of the shop where Tony noticed a few people lurking the second time he visited Peter. Today, the younger bunch of them is back – Tony recognizes Ned next to some other girl with a green ‘No animals were harmed in the feeding of this body’ T-shirt and Tony vows to avoid her like the plague. Vegans tend to despise Stark Industries.

When Peter arrives, Tony has to do a double-take. 

Not in the positive sense, however – the kid looks like he slept about as much as Tony in the past week. He smiles when he spots Tony, but it’s, like, half the normal intensity. 

“Hi! You’re alive!” Peter says, then immediately begins babbling again. “Uh, I mean – I knew you didn’t… cause that would’ve made the headl– sorry, I’m sure you don’t wanna talk about the press after – we, uh, we were supposed to be studying but, um...” Peter makes a visible effort to stop himself, then sends Tony another low-watt smile. “Hi. Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Tony drawls with a grin. “Sorry ‘bout that. Stuff came up. Now I need coffee. Give me something I haven’t had yet.”

Nodding, Peter goes through the familiar movements with an unfamiliar lack of speed. Tony narrows his eyes and looks closer, in a non-creepy way for a change, noting the tenser line of Peter’s back and the way his pants seem to be sitting a bit looser on his hips. 

“You got time for a break?” Tony asks. “And maybe an office? There’s something I wanna talk to you about.” 

Around the corner, Tony hears sudden hushed whispering from Ned and the girl while Peter bites his lips. He’s tired enough to have lost the ability to multitask, since he’s stopped mid-motion. 

“Uh, I’m technically on a study break? I’m, uh…” 

He looks around for his colleague who waves him off with a nod, so a couple of minutes later Tony finds himself in a cluttered, broom-closet-sized office with an apologetic Peter. 

“Sorry about the mess, it’s been, uh, well, May’s been sick and I haven’t had time to, you know,” he gestures with his own large cup, spilling some liquid and hissing at the temperature while simultaneously trying to free up a spot on the desk. It’s filled with papers and folders as well as a… fuck, a Macintosh from the 90s. That model’s gotta be older than Peter. 

Peter blushes. “Oh, yes, actually… Still runs, though.” 

Tony blinks at him. “Did I say that out loud?”

The kid nods, then sets his cup down and motions for Tony to sit on the one free chair in the ‘office’ but Tony ignores it. Curiosity propels him forward and confirms his suspicions, namely that Peter (and Ned, probably) have upgraded the ancient computer as much as possible rather than buying something new. 

All the more reason for Tony to delve into SI’s proposal to invest in _The Hybrid Puppy_ so they can remodel the first floor and hire more staff to deal with the influx of customers that’s bound to happen once SI’s PR geniuses had a go at a marketing strategy beyond ‘Make great coffee and tell people Tony Stark is a regular’. 

Peter’s eyes grow increasingly large and at some point his mouth falls open, which proves distracting enough that Tony almost forgets the best part. 

“Oh, right, I’m gonna help modernize the tech here, too, in addition to the remodeling. I’m not a perfect architect but we got JARVIS to double-check any plans and this way we’re supporting you and your aunt, not simply taking over for you guys.”

 _And I get to spend more time with you,_ is what Tony doesn’t say. 

For real, this time. 

“I, uh,” Peter stutters. “I don’t know what to – is this a dream? Or a hallucination? I read that that can be a side effect of little sleep but I dozed off in Spanish today so maybe a dream after all?”

Tony tries to bite his tongue, but he’s never been one for self-control. 

“I sure hope your dreams are a bit more exciting than us sharing coffee in the break room, kid,” he teases and learns that a sleep-deprived Peter has even less power over the blood flow to his face. 

“Uh, they’re, yeah, um…”

“Yeah, really painting a picture for me,” Tony drawls, then sips from the latest delicious brew. “Not a dream; a real offer. What do you say?”

Peter stares for another few seconds, then takes a deep breath which seems to clear his head. “You’d really just be an investor? Not an owner?” 

“Yup. We wanna help the local community, not assume control. I’ll be a bit more hands-on here, but I’ve got a…” Tony weighs his words. “A _vested interest_ , so to say.”

It’s hard to keep the innuendo from his tone. Peter’s cheeks turn an even more delicious shade of pink and dimple as he smiles. 

“I, uh, I got to ask my aunt before… Not that I think she’s gonna say no! Exactly the opposite! But uh, she’s the owner, so I, uh…”

Tony saves Peter from more floundering with a “Yeah, I know” and they agree on a meeting at Stark Industries that same evening.

* 

Of course the guy from Legal dominates the conversation. 

Tony doesn’t mind all that much – he has muffins and coffee from _The Hybrid Puppy_ that Peter brought along, so Tony contends himself with sugar, caffeine and an excuse to study the line of Peter's neck. 

Peter notices and apparently can’t un-notice it. Fortunately, his aunt got an invite to the legal babble and is too busy hashing out details and pretending to be fine to register her ward’s distracted state. 

She puts up a good front but Tony can see the dull quality of her eyes and her matted hair and complexion. Her file didn’t say anything about her depression resurfacing, meaning she’s keeping it a secret and that’s probably why Peter looks like he’s been run over by a truck and scraped off the floor with a spoon. 

Tony doesn’t ask. He’s not the kid’s keeper and if he wants to fall asleep in school, then that’s a problem of his time management and none of Tony’s business. May Parker is also none of his business… which is too bad, cause she was supposed to be a safety net between him and Peter when they meet that Friday evening to kick off the remodeling process. 

Tony arrives fashionably late and finds Peter alone in the shop that’s been closed for the occasion.

“Where’s your aunt?”

Peter doesn’t meet his eye. “She’s uh, she’s sick again. She trusts us with the designs, as long as it doesn’t clash with the, the logo?”

His voice wavers on the last two words. 

Tony has half a mind to probe deeper but the other part of his brain has noticed how Peter’s work tee is clinging to his chest as he walks up the stairs to the first floor. 

Tony shakes his head in the hope that it’ll chase off all the distracting, vivid images in his mind but he can feel his self-control slipping. 

Well, can you blame him? It’s been an awful week. He’s run out of the good scotch in the workshop and Butterfingers refused to fetch a new one from his penthouse bar on JARVIS’s behest – _traitor_ – and now Peter’s trying to make a case for combining the _Hybrid Puppy_ ’s beige with a warm blue. 

“Blue? Seriously, kid?” Tony snorts. “Blue’s boring. JARVIS, give us some red.”

JARVIS has been holographically modeling their ideas and decisions about table placement, counter layout and most importantly, color scheme, projecting the hypothetical results onto the rows of boxes and covered-up furniture. The warm blue accents in the projection bleed out into a beautiful red that gives the shop a glamorous edge without detracting from its hipster-ish charm. 

Peter swallows. “It’s, uh… it’s…”

“It’s fucking amazing, that’s what it is,” Tony announces, but Peter’s expression remains pinched. “What?”

“Blue was…” Peter stops again. Starts over, eyes on the floor. “Blue was Ben’s favorite color. He’s my – was my – uncle.”

Tony hums. 

“We’re okay now, May and I,” Peter promises, unprompted, which conveys the exact opposite of what Peter tries to make the world believe. “We’ve, uh, we’ve moved on by now.”

Tony lets out a long breath but he can’t rein in his response. “Some things stay with you your entire life, kid.”

He clearly didn’t expect that kind of reaction and Tony sees first-hand how much grief and for some reason guilt Peter still has. He remembers that feeling, the heavy weight of it on your shoulders and chest, and how overwhelming it can be. 

That’s why it comes as no surprise when Peter flees across the floor and walks over to where they’ve designed an amazingly practical counter and starts fiddling with the hologram. 

“How, uh, how’re you handling the protests? Have you seen them yet, or…?”

Tony must have missed the memo that declared they’d be hopping from one uncomfortable topic to the next with as little skill as possible. 

“They’re kinda hard to miss, camped out right on my doorstep,” Tony drawls before the annoyance sets in. “Like that’s gonna help anyone; they’re just wasting time and resources that could be better spent.”

“But, uh, I mean…” Peter bites his lip. “You are downsizing, aren’t you?”

Tony groans, then slaps Peter’s hands away from the cupboard. “Stop that, you’re adding movements to the work flow. And we’re not doing anything, that’s our subsidiary’s idea.”

“But if you told them to, they’d have to listen and there wouldn’t be so many layoffs?”

“Course there’d be layoffs! That’s how companies grow, kid.”

Peter’s brow furrows. “But what about the workers? And their families?”

Tony shrugs, leaning back against a dusty cupboard that will become the snack display. “They’ll find new jobs. And what’s with the twenty questions? You finally got Econ 101 or something?”

Peter hunches in on himself a little but the fight doesn’t leave him. “Well, there’s been a lot of talk at school. MJ says there are no jobs.”

“Sure there are,” Tony huffs, “IT’s the fastest growing sector. Construction’s got a ton of fields, pun definitely intended,” he adds with a wink. “These folks just have to get off their asses and look. Beggars can’t be choosers, and all that jazz.”

“But most don’t have the qualifications! And even if they had – do you have any idea how much a degree costs?” 

“Ugh, there’re student loans –”

“Or how safeguarded the IT sector is? It’s hard to learn that stuff in school, but it’s really hard to learn later on and by the time they’re proficient, they’re told they’re too old!”

Peter’s stance has widened all of a sudden and there’s a fire in his eyes. Tony blinks, cause, seriously, what the hell? 

“Try harder?” Tony suggests. “Not sure what you want me to say here, kid. Why’re you so vocal about that stuff anyway? I wouldn’t be surprised if you aren’t headhunted right outta high school.”

That slows Peter’s roll a bit, but only for a second. 

“I’m not, I mean… it’s not about me. I, uh… I volunteer at this computer lab in Brooklyn – we’re teaching people who can’t afford a computer or expensive night school classes how to, um, code. Sometimes just to use a computer, so they’ll have a better chance at getting back on their feet…”

“Oh, is that it?” Tony steps closer and reaches inside his breast pocket. He came straight from a soul-crushing meeting with Accounting without changing and is kind of overdressed, though that means he still has his checkbook with him. “Sounds like an adorable venture – worthy cause, whatever. You guys need equipment, too?”

Peter stares at him, pen raised and checkbook open. 

“We don’t need more computers,” he says, “or, uh, or money. Facebook funds the lab… but… But we’d need more teachers.”

A beat. 

Then Tony gets it. 

And laughs. 

“You mean me? I’m supposed to teach a bunch of homeless people how to turn it off and on again? Ha, that’s hilarious. Nah, just take the check, kid.” 

He’s still laughing but Peter’s expression has soured. 

“You can’t solve everything with money.”

 _Oh yeah, that’s it._ Tony’s had enough of this. 

“Like your aunt’s mental health problems?” he shoots back and Peter startles so hard he stumbles into a stack of boxes, his face losing all color. 

“What? I don’t –”

“Cut the crap, kid,” Tony interrupts. “I can see you’re covering for her. You have been covering for her, haven’t you? Falling asleep in Spanish, was it? That’s not gonna look good to the headhunters, you –”

“It’s not that bad! Really, I, uh, it only happened that one time and that was cause I stayed up messaging with Ned and MJ so it was my fault, right, May didn’t – she’s just, um, just a bit under the weather, it’s no problem, I swear!”

Tony feels like he’s missing something. He hates missing things – it leads to relatives stabbing him in the back and him almost bleeding out on his living room floor. 

“Why?” he demands, stepping closer. 

Peter freezes. Yup, definitely hiding something. 

“Seriously, why not take her to the doc? That’s what they’re there for –”

“They’ll revoke her guardianship!”

Tony stutters to a halt. Shit, now it all falls into place – he read that CPS wasn’t totally happy with allowing May to keep custody of Peter after Ben’s death and her episode. Damn, it’s so obvious now. 

“You don’t understand,” Peter continues, unaware of Tony’s realization. There’s a panic in his tone that Tony hates to have been the cause of. “I’d rather be tired in school and come home to her than… you know…”

Peter’s shrug somehow conveys it all. Tony finds his throat is weirdly dry. He coughs before finally meeting Peter’s pleading gaze. 

It’s amazing how quickly the anxiety bleeds from Peter’s shoulders only through non-verbal communication – because Tony does understand. 

And Peter gets it now.

“I’m not gonna rat you out, kid,” Tony confirms. “Lord knows I’m in no place to lecture anyone about mindfulness. Oh, and I hate talking to people anyway,” he adds, but the joke falls flat. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter says – and means it, cause that’s the kind of person he is. 

“Yeah, can’t be undone.” Tony shrugs. “I’m sure there’s a version of reality somewhere in the multiverse where they didn’t die and I didn’t inherit the firm way too early.”

Peter opens his mouth to protest but Tony staves him off immediately. 

“Nope, spare me the platitudes, kid, they don’t work on me. I spend too much time with PR people.” 

But Peter’s still biting his lip and thinking loudly. Tony heaves a sigh, which does nothing to stop him. 

“Maybe you were too young… in the beginning. But, um, you grew into it, didn’t you?” 

“A decade and a half too late, you mean,” Tony snorts. 

“No, uh, even before –” Peter’s eyes drop to his chest for a split-second – “even before… that. You revolutionized computing, you developed cheaper medical equipment and funded Dr. Banner’s research when no one else would, and, and so much more – sure, you kept selling weapons that killed people,” Peter concedes with a wince, “but you… You helped a lot of people, too. And, uh, without all the… the complications?” Peter suggests, and isn’t that the tamest headline for Tony’s wild, wild twenties? “Without that, you wouldn’t be who you are today.”

And then he stops. 

“That was…” Tony begins on an exhale, with no clue as to how to end that sentence. _Profound? Wise beyond his years?_

Whatever you wanna call it, it’s damn appealing.

 _Too_ appealing, in fact. 

“What, you read that on a fortune cookie?” Tony quips. “Grateful be to the past for make the man you are today, it did?”

There’s a moment of silence as Peter mentally untangles the syntax and matches the stylistic quote to the right franchise… but instead of laughing and breaking the moment – as had been Tony’s plan, damn it – Peter’s expression remains somber. 

“That’d be too long for a fortune cookie,” he says in all seriousness… before a glint of mischief creeps into his eyes. 

Huh. Two can play that game. 

“Nah,” Tony says, with a bit of a sneer, “they fit eighty characters. We’re still six short.”

Peter makes a surprised noise. “What, really? Uh… Do you own a fortune cookie manufacturer, too?”

Tony shrugs. “Maybe.”

Tony tries, he really does, but he can’t keep down the laughter anymore. Peter’s expression of utter bafflement, especially at something so random as a fortune cookie company, is too much. 

He’s off, and moments later Peter’s laughing, too. It’s a full, rich sound, and makes his shoulders shake underneath the _Hybrid Puppy_ T-shirt. 

Tony catches himself staring just as the laughter trails off. 

When he looks up, Peter’s eyes are already on him and they’re still alight with mirth and joy and life and oh, screw it – screw it all to hell and back. 

Tony slips a hand behind Peter’s neck and closes the gap between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. There is a special circle of Hell for authors of such cliffhangers. 
> 
> =)


	8. eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs* Please note the change in rating. 
> 
> I'm SO GLAD IT'S MONDAY! I get to update and this awful weekend is finally over. BIG HUGS to you wonderful commenters, you've been a lifeline <3 
> 
> Chapter 9 is in the works, but you may need some patience since I don't want to rush this story at the expense of quality.

Peter sees it coming – in the shift in Tony’s attention, the darkening of his eyes and the split-second glance at Peter’s lips – long before the man brings his hand up and pulls him in. 

The moment’s long enough for Peter to panic briefly because he’s definitely not as smooth and graceful as he is in his fantasies and Tony’s way more experienced, like, exponentially more and Peter’s never gonna measure up – 

But then Tony’s lips meet his and all that’s left in Peter’s mind is _‘Finally!’_.

It’s better than he ever could have imagined, from the firm, confident press of Tony’s lips to the scrape of his goatee against Peter’s skin that he thought about so often. The kiss is demanding and hungry and makes Peter’s wires cross from its intensity. He’s never experienced anything like it, nothing so, so primal and, and – oh. 

Peter whimpers when he feels Tony’s tongue lick into his mouth. There’s a hand on his hip, pinning him in place and encouraging him at the same time to reach for the lapels of Tony’s suit and pull himself close until their bodies connect. 

“Ngh,” Tony moans against Peter’s lips, which Peter takes as permission to shift even closer, the cheap fabric of his work tee at odds with the tailored material of Tony’s waistcoat. 

Peter can’t resist sliding his hands down Tony’s chest, fingers brushing over the rim of the arc reactor until they reach the first button of the waistcoat. Coordinating the incredible kissing with hand movements is a challenge, so it’s probably better that Peter’s in no rush to remove any clothing… 

That’s when another tilt of his body shifts his hips. The pressure of Tony’s thigh against his growing erection distracts Peter enough that his lips lose the rhythm of their kiss. His gasps morphs into a low moan cause Tony – deliberately, based on his smirk – starts moving his leg in tiny increments. 

“Tony,” Peter half-gasps, half-whines, and watches Tony’s pupils dilate even further and his smile widen before his own eyes flutter shut when Tony increases the pressure. 

One of Tony’s hands is still at Peter’s neck, a warm, heavy weight that centers him. Up close like this, Peter can smell Tony’s cologne, a complex, spicy scent on top of the flood of sensations that sends jolts of pleasure down his spine.

As the next moan rises in his throat, Peter doesn’t stifle it. Instead, he rides it out, letting his head fall forward onto Tony’s shoulder. From this new position, it’s hard to miss the defined line of Tony’s erection straining against his quality dress pants. The shaking in his hands stroking Tony’s chest grows more pronounced then, anticipation and lust and friction and just _Tony getting hard from Peter_ all proving a bit too much for his overactive brain. 

A burst of desire urges Peter forward – moving means that Tony’s thigh slips from between his legs but it’s okay cause a moment later, Peter captures Tony’s lips again. Their noses bump awkwardly but before Peter has time to worry that he’s embarrassing himself, Tony shifts his stance and presses their bodies together, chest to groin.

Peter doesn’t know where to direct his thoughts – the expert tongue in his mouth, the thumbs on his neck, the rim of the arc reactor poking his chest or, oh god, the feeling of Tony’s erection against his own. 

“Shit,” he gasps, pulling back slightly cause he needs a second. 

He doesn’t know what he wants, just that he needs _more_ , more kissing, more friction, _more Tony_. Peter’s lips have to be swollen from all the making out and he’s sure his eyes look wild. But Tony seems to like the look cause suddenly there’s a hand in Peter’s hair as Tony pushes him back and turns him slightly until his shoulders connect with the wall. 

It’s freaking amazing to be manhandled like this, Peter discovers, and another wave of pleasure crashes through him when Tony steps into his space, pressing their bodies flush together again. Tony is maybe half a head taller so his erection’s poking Peter’s stomach now, making him think about what that would feel like without clothes… but their next kiss shuts up any and all coherent thought. 

Peter digs his fingers into Tony’s shoulders. He can’t keep his hips still and holy shit, he feels the pleasure build, this is awesome, he never thought anything could feel this – 

Suddenly, everything stops. 

Peter’s eyes blink open in confusion to catch Tony’s pinched expression before he removes the hand from Peter’s hair and rubs it across his face. 

“Wha– did I do something wrong?” Peter asks. His voice is slightly hoarse but Tony most definitely heard him because he’s shaking his head. 

“No, that was all on me.” 

Tony takes a step back with a resounding “Fuck!” and Peter’s body is chasing the movement before he realizes what he’s doing. He doesn’t get far – Tony raises his other hand and stops him in his tracks. 

“But – I don’t understand… Didn’t you like it?”

Peter hates how small he sounds. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands but his impulse to wrap them around himself seems silly. 

Then he sees how wrecked Tony looks and it becomes unimportant. 

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Or, or did I wrinkle the suit? Please tell me I didn’t ruin the suit,” he stammers. The jacket looks fine but what does Peter know about silk or whatever that is? 

“Hang on.” Tony squints at him. “I’m the one mauling _you_ and you’re worried about messing up my suit?” 

“You didn’t! You, uh, it was,” Peter licks his lips. “It was… _awesome_.” 

Tony doesn’t reply for several seconds. Peter worries his bottom lip between his teeth and shifts his weight from one foot to the other and back because the silence is killing him. Was he that bad at it? 

“You realize we can’t do this, kid.”

“What? Why, what d’you –”

“You’re _sixteen_ ,” Tony cuts in, with a vengeance. “Christ. You’re sixteen.”

“I’m not a kid!” Peter protests. “I’ve done things, I’ve experimented, I want to do more, please Tony, I –”

“You want me to go to jail?”

“… do more with – what? No! Of course not! Why would you even – that’s, no.”

Tony spreads his hands like he just proved a point. “Then we can’t do this, kid. No, no, you _are_ a kid, Peter, in the eyes of the law. You can’t consent to this and I’m –”

“I can!” Peter steps up to Tony again. “I can, and I do, I consent, I want this, god, you’ve no idea how much I – and, and the dreams and the fantasies and –“

“Ngh, stop,” Tony half-snaps, half-moans. “TMI. Also, not helping me be the bigger man here.”

“You already are, from what I felt,” Peter blurts, freezes, then decides to roll with it and grins. 

It gets him a laugh from Tony and a dirty leer before the other man seems to remember that he’s trying to put a stop to this. Peter never had that much, well, power, if that’s the right word, over anyone, and to be the reason Tony Stark’s loosing his thread is as daunting as it’s awesome. 

“You’re evil, that’s what you are,” Tony jokes. “But I’m serious here, kid. As much as I want to, I can’t do this. Not worth the risk, not to me, not to my company. Especially not to my company. Where would all the great inventions you praised come from if our stock price drops to zero, huh?”

“Oh.” The thought never even occurred to Peter.

“Yeah, oh.”

Tony inhales deeply while Peter tries to take back control over his body. Stupid hormones. Yet apparently, the dystopian vision of a world without SI works wonders on boners. 

“So, we on the same page, kid?”

Peter lifts his head. Tony looks as composed as before they began. He forces himself to nod. 

“Good. Now what’s your final word on the color scheme?”

*

They wrap up around midnight. Peter watches JARVIS pull back the beige-red projections and swallows. 

“Why’d you change your mind?” Tony asks as they walk towards the stairs. “About the blue.”

Peter looks to his shoes. “Um, my uncle, he… he wouldn’t have minded. He was big on responsibility, said that, uh…” A shaky exhale. “ _With great power comes great responsibility._ I mean, he was talking about bigger things, not just a small coffee shop and, uh… we’re improving the shop. We’ll be able to serve more customers, spread the word about the Neighborhood Avengers, and, uh… Yeah. He’d have been okay with red, I think.”

“Sounds like a wise man,” Tony comments. 

“Ben was the best,” Peter says, feeling a smile on his face until the memories invade his mind again. “Uh, tomorrow, noon, right? You said we’d, uh…”

Tony nods. “We’ll clear out the floor, start with the structural stuff and work our way up. The money’s gonna come through on Monday – you know if your aunt’s set up interviews yet? Once you’re not chained to your shifts anymore we can start designing the tech. Best to do that in the workshop, though, away from prying eyes and annoying customers.”

Peter agrees even if he can’t quite wrap his head around the idea.

Well, twelve hours ago he would’ve said the same about kissing Tony Stark… which he won’t be doing again. Peter steals a glance at Tony’s lips before they part ways. Tony must have noticed, but he keeps a respectable distance between them. 

“See you tomorrow, then? Uh, goodnight?” Peter adds an awkward wave and ducks his head. 

Tony smirks, nods, and turns towards the first driverless car waiting at the curb without another word so Peter has no choice but to ride the second one back to Queens. 

He texts Tony a quick ‘Thank you for the lift’ and gets an ‘Anytime, kid’ back that he obsesses over all the way home, where he finds May asleep on the sofa, the TV still on. 

Peter checks the medicine cabinet, then her room before crouching down next to the sofa, just to be sure her breathing pattern’s okay. He pulls the blanket that has slipped down back over her shoulders and briefly presses his lips to the crown of her head. 

“I kissed Tony Stark today,” he whispers, just to say it out loud once, to make it real, somehow. “I’d love to do it again but we can’t. The law’s stupid, seriously, it sucks… He wants me, too, can you believe it? He really does – but he’s right…” Peter heaves a sigh. “Bigger picture. We’re thinking of the bigger picture…”

His aunt doesn’t stir like he knew she wouldn’t, but Peter feels better regardless.

*

**One week later**

Bruce shouldn’t be surprised. Whenever he relaxes into the knowledge of an uneventful day ahead, Tony finds a way to derail his plans. It’s how their friendship started in 2012 and it’s how it’s been ever since. 

This past week, though, Tony’s been even busier than usual. Not due to his Month Of CEO-ing, however, but due to the newest pet pilot project from PR. Usually Tony couldn’t care less after the money comes through and it’s all hashed out, but for some reason, _The Hybrid Puppy_ is different. 

Their coffee is brilliant, Bruce is the last to deny that, but he doesn’t understand how that warrants the preferential treatment Tony’s been doling out in his final week as active CEO. 

There goes his concentration again. Bruce pulls back from the microscope, takes three quick deep breaths to center himself, and returns to the research with a clear –

“Ugh.”

_Of course_ that’s when Tony throws himself into the chair on the other side of the microscope with a long-suffering sigh. 

He’s directly in Bruce’s field of vision – if he looked up from the microscope, that is. Which he pointedly doesn’t. 

Tony sighs again, more annoyingly this time. 

“I’m a bit preoccupied,” Bruce points out, “with work _you_ gave me. You know my specialty isn’t epigenetics, right?”

Tony’s head lolls back. “Distract me, Bruce.”

Now it’s Bruce’s turn to sigh. He keeps his attention focused on the petri dish. 

“Bruuuuce,” Tony whines, which never bodes well. “Put that away, it can wait.”

“I’m sure the CIA will beg to differ…”

“I don’t care, this is way more important than –”

“Remember what happened when you ignored the KGB?”

“Yeah, I caught them red-handed committing an act of cyber warfare –”

“For the last time,” Bruce interrupts before Tony goes even further off course and Bruce will have to cancel his brunch plans because he had to work through the night, “that wasn’t cyber warfare. Enough with the melodrama.”

“But there’s a sixteen-year-old barista in my shower and I’m seconds away from going back upstairs and joining him!”

Bruce stops. 

Turns his head… and wishes he’d stayed in his suite today. 

After knowing him for a little over five years, Bruce can tell the desperation in Tony’s eyes is real. Which raises more questions than it answers, unfortunately. 

Bruce secures his experiment, walks around the table and pulls up another chair so he’s facing his best friend. 

“Do I want to know why there is a sixteen-year-old in your shower?”

“Cause we’re building the ultimate coffee machine! Or we were, before the klutz overdid it with the lube and –”

Bruce coughs. “Sorry, what?”

Tony arches an eyebrow. “Lubricant. For the machine. Get your mind out of the gutter, jeez.”

“You’re the one who’s about to commit statutory rape, but _my_ mind’s in the gutter?” 

Bruce catches Tony’s wince at the legal term. 

“Is he an intern? I thought we only hired graduates?”

“We do, and he’s not. He’s a barista. A damn good one at that. Also, have I mentioned he’s hot? And smart? Seriously, he’s the one who repaired the coffee machine in the workshop.”

Now Bruce is intrigued. He drinks that coffee, too, and it’s delightful. And while he would have expected Tony to sleep with the person who made it, he would have thought Tony would be able to stay away from those under the age of consent. At least after the Valedictorian Fiasco of 2015. 

Conveniently enough, his answer appears in the doorway. 

It’s Peter, from _The Hybrid Puppy_ , where Bruce meets Bucky – and by extension Steve – for brunch sometimes. 

Only today, Peter is wearing one of Tony’s favorite band tees and his hair’s wet from the shower. Bruce watches his best friend lick his lips as his eyelids droop as well as the corresponding reaction in Peter. 

Bruce has witnessed a gallery of infatuated young men blush because of Tony, but none of them has ever been this… sincere.

Oh no, this isn’t going to end well. 

“Hello,” Bruce says with a cough. 

The young man startles and seems to only now register that there is a world outside of himself and Tony Stark. 

“Oh, uh, hi…” Peter’s eyes widen in recognition. “Mr. Chai Tea With Almond Milk!”

A beat. 

“Oh my god,” Tony jeers, “you need that on a T-shirt, Bruce!” 

His “No, I do not!” is nothing but a token protest with little hope for reversing the chain of events that has been set in motion and Bruce resigns himself to adding a new graphic tee to his collection. 

To Peter, he extends a hand. “Bruce Banner.”

Usually, all he gets from Tony’s flings is a disinterested ‘Nice to meet you’ if he’s lucky. Peter, though, surges forward and shakes his hand with the kind of enthusiasm that’s rather foreign to Bruce. 

“You, you’re _the_ Bruce Banner? Like, the Dr. Banner who wrote the editorial on how molecular assemblers could become a reality and cure world hunger for _The New Yorker_ and who’s working on the next generation of physics text b- oh, sorry!”

Bruce can finally pull his hand back but still not get a word in edge-wise. 

“It’s really awesome to meet you! Dude, I was so bad at physics until I read your essay on the role it plays in, well, in, in, in _everything_ – um, _Why Physics Matters, Pun Intended_ , was it, right? Really, thank you, you changed my entire understanding of the subject matter.”

Bruce has no clue how to react to this. Tony is too busy drooling over the boy’s smarts to offer guidance, so Bruce just smiles and nods. 

Peter has enough to say for the three of them anyway. 

“This is so cool! Dr. Banner’s been having brunch in my shop, I can’t believe Bucky didn’t tell me he knows you, just last week he – oh, now I get it! Ned and I were having a really hard time with physics homework and Bucky kept laughing and refused to tell us what’s so funny but I’m sure it’s cause he knows the author of the theory we were studying – your extension of the Breit-Wheeler process – and he could have _totally_ asked you for – or wait, sorry, no, I wouldn’t want to, I mean, you’re probably way too busy to… Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

“It’s fine, thank you,” Bruce manages, but his discomfort at the praise must be showing on his features. Almost a pity Tony has yet to lock him into a room with the PR department for – Bruce shudders at the thought – _coaching_.

Tony saves him from the prolonged awkward silence that was dawning on them. 

“Well, we’d better continue where we left off now that all Health And Safety guidelines are checked off, right?” he says, getting to his feet. “Machines to build, lube to apply…”

Peter splutters… but the smirk he throws Tony makes Bruce question what he did in a past life to deserve being put into the middle of this situation. 

“Tony, you have a minute?” Bruce cuts in before the two can escape to the seclusion of the workshop – and isn’t that ringing alarm bells; Bruce can count the number of people allowed in there on one hand. “I need your input before I sequence these.”

Tony waves at Peter to go ahead, but the boy doesn’t immediately obey. Rather, he nods, then steps back up to Bruce with an apologetic expression. 

“I’m sorry for the, uh,” he stammers. “I get a bit carried away at times? But meeting you is so awesome! And I promise I won’t make it awkward the next time you come into the shop, so please don’t, uh – or, well, Ned might say something, if he’s there, so I’m sorry in advance, just…” 

Peter ends with a shrug Bruce can’t describe as anything but ‘adorable’. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he assures the boy who forces out a breath and takes off with a nervous smile as his blush rises up to his ears. 

The second the sound-proof lab doors shut, Bruce turns to Tony, who’s wearing the _Who? Me?’_ expression he probably perfected when he was three. Bruce has found that the best strategy against it is to just keep staring. 

“We’re not doing anything,” Tony eventually announces, like he deserves a medal for keeping his hands to himself. 

The tense gives Bruce pause. “You aren’t?” 

“Nope.” 

A beat.

“But you have?”

Tony groans first, then glares at him and raises a finger accusingly. “Not that kind of doctor, my ass! You’re totally hiding a psychology degree from us, admit it.”

“Oh yes,” Bruce replies as drily as he can, “it’s right next to the degree in Biochemistry and Engineering. I’m thinking about adding a Ph. D. in Interpretive Dance next, what do you say?”

“You certainly have the body for it, darling,” Tony quips back, then aims for the door until Bruce stops him with a stern “Tony.”

His best friend turns grudgingly. “Yes, dear?” 

“Are you trying to change the topic to allow for plausible deniability when I have to testify in front of Criminal Court?”

“Gawd, stop it with the legalese, okay?” Tony starts fiddling with the microscope settings until Bruce swats his hands away. His admission comes out rushed, which does nothing to soothe Bruce’s concern. “It was one kiss, that’s all. Nothing that’ll land me in prison for a couple of years…”

“Yet,” Bruce feels compelled to point out. 

Tony cringes. 

“Look,” Bruce says after a moment, “these laws exist for a reason. The power imbalance between you two is… immense, let alone the age gap. Just… be careful, Tony, okay?”

“Wait – you’re not saying ‘You mustn’t sleep with the barista’ but, huh? What, exactly?”

Bruce resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m saying you’re Tony Stark and no matter what I tell you, you’re going to be your usual stubborn self.”

“Persistent’s the word you’re looking for, I thin–” 

“Bullheaded’s another alternative that comes to mind,” Bruce parries. 

Tony manages to maintain his glare for another few seconds before he deflates with a pained, “He’s wearing my Black Sabbath T-shirt, Bruce.” 

Bruce wishes he’d get away with smashing his face into the petri dishes. 

But because he’s a good friend, he has a strangely helpful JARVIS interrupt Tony and Peter’s workflow with an only slightly exaggerated emergency in Stark Industries’ facility upstate. 

Bruce still feels a bit guilty when he sees Peter’s sad puppy dog eyes on the CCTV as he exits the Tower and vows to leave a big tip after his brunch on Saturday.


	9. nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Little patience required this time around *grins* 
> 
> And a possible, uh, feature of interest: the current outline for this fic amounts to about 22-24 chapters.
> 
> For now... hehe... ENJOY THIS ONE, FOLKS <3

“… use Peter as a nude model in our next art event.”

Peter’s head snaps up. “Wh-what?” 

Across the coffee shop table, MJ sneers. “Oh, you’re still with us, Parker.” 

“Yeah, dude,” Ned says. “Where’ve you been?”

 _Back in my room wearing the Black Sabbath tee Tony lent me,_ is at the tip of Peter’s tongue, but May emerging from around the wall with a new thermos of tea stops his distracted brain from actually saying that out loud. 

“Where has who been?” May asks, setting down the thermos as she looks around the table. 

The only members of the Neighborhood Avengers Website Restructuring Task Force who drink tea are Steve and MJ, but somehow that means that Bucky, Ned and Peter have to contend with it, too. They’re grouped around a table, Steve and Bucky comfortably sharing the bench while MJ, Ned and Peter occupy the chairs. 

Bucky’s not really part of the Task Force; he only tags along for the free pastries Toomes is going to bring by any minute now. 

“Well, your nephew has been drifting off all meeting.”

Okay, and to provide really, _really_ unhelpful commentary. Bucky grins at Peter while May places a soft hand on his shoulder. 

“Oh?” 

Peter looks up. “It’s nothing.”

May’s brow unfurrows and her lips curl into a smile. “How about you say that once more with feeling?” 

“Yeah, it’s like Liz is back!” Ned supplies before Peter can even think about making shushing motions at him. 

His aunt’s eyes light up. Which would be a great thing if they were talking about literally _anything else_. 

“Who is he, Peter?”

Five pairs of eyes are suddenly on him. They know he likes guys, but, well, he hasn’t really mentioned anything… for obvious reasons. 

Peter’s saved by Toomes’s vocal entry and the inability of the new barista May’s currently training to deal with the baker in the middle of one of his self-righteous tirades. 

“Do I look like a fucking sell-out to you?” Toomes demands when he reaches their table after unloading half his creations for _The Hybrid Puppy_ ’s new ‘Taste Adventure’ basket. Toomes sells his experiments for half-price, but tasters are required to fill out a poll that Ned created after trying a novelty muffin and – 

And Peter missed half of what Toomes was saying. 

“– ain’t gonna do it, I don’t care how perfect that kitchen is. Ey, Parker.” Toomes places a tray with cupcakes in front of them. They’re green. “Tell your sugar daddy he’s got no business messing with mine, you hear me?”

For a terrifying second, Peter’s blood turns cold.

“Stark,” Toomes adds – not helping – and finally explains, “The rich prick’s offered me a job at his firm, baking for stiff meetings, like them corporate types aren’t fat enough. Told him to go to hell. Doubt that guy knows how to operate an oven –”

“He’d just build a robot to bake for him,” Ned says. “Like he has a coffee machine now that just has one –”

“– button and you helped design it, yeah, I got it, the entire city’s got it, Leeds,” Toomes grouses. 

“Wait,” Bucky says around a mouthful of green cupcake. He makes a show of swallowing after a pointed glance from his fiancé. “I thought you said it’s just more hours but at good pay and some sort of grant to cover upgrades and additional staff, right? From that pilot project? How’s that ‘selling out’?” Bucky adds air quotes, which is hard with half a cupcake in his hand. “You’d keep your shop, just with a little more cash in the bank.” 

“Stop inhaling them, Barnes, Christ, were you raised in a cave? And it’s the principle of it – I ain’t taking Stark’s dirty money. You heard about the layoffs at Uber?”

Peter almost points out that people want more driverless Uber cars and that it’s basic supply and demand, but when MJ starts clapping her hands he bites his tongue. 

“Fucking disgrace,” Toomes continues. “One day the entire country’s gonna run on Stark’s tech and the little guy’s gonna be nothing but a tiny, tiny bug under Stark’s five-thousand-dollar shoes. Now Parker, help me get the racks from yesterday back into my van.”

Peter shoots up from his chair, more than grateful for the excuse to escape the probing stare of Steve that’s been on him ever since Toomes’s sugar-daddy-comment… even if it means listening to more of the baker’s conspiracy theories as they’re gathering the items in the back of the _Hybrid Puppy_. 

“Just you wait, son; that bastard’s got more up his sleeve. First transportation, then independent businesses like your shop or my bakery, and before anyone notices Stark’s everywhere. No keeping secrets anymore.”

“Maybe we’ll be safer?” Peter dares suggest, and Toomes lets the stack of bread boxes crash back onto the metallic table with a resounding _CLONK_. 

“I thought you were smart, son. Or are you so moon-eyed you only see the shit those shiny ads want you to see? Well, guess what, kiddo – even if it smells like rose buds, shit’s still shit.”

With that, Toomes picks up the boxes and stalks out of the room to where he parked his van out back. Peter barely manages to keep up. The other man drives off without another word. 

Peter sighs and makes his way back to the Avengers through the staff-only entrance. Yet when he passes the elevator and rounds the corner, Peter collides with a wall. 

No, worse – he collides with Steve. 

“It’s Stark, isn’t it?” he asks without preamble. 

Peter’s stomach jolts, but he manages a befuddled, “Who?” 

Too bad that Steve’s been a cop for two years and a soldier before that and doesn't buy it for a second.

“The person you’re daydreaming about.” 

Peter decides keeping silent’s the best course of action but then Steve crosses his impressive arms – Peter’s expression must have given him away, damn. 

He checks his surroundings to make sure they really are alone before assuring Steve in a whisper, “We haven’t done anything!” 

Steve regards him for a moment. “Haven’t you?”

Peter nods frantically. “Promise. Now, can I…?” 

He points over Steve’s shoulder towards the door hiding the busy coffee shop floor but the other man doesn’t budge. 

“Peter.” 

Great. He knows that tone – it’s the same one May uses for one of her rare lectures. He meets Steve’s blue eyes reluctantly.

“Better keep it that way. You're sixteen, Peter. He's forty-seven. That's _thirty-one years_ ," Steve says, like Peter hasn't done the math himself on multiple occasions. Mostly late at night when the afterglow of his orgasm sent him back to wondering if there’s maybe a way for them to be together regardless. 

The conclusion he draws every single time is what he tells Steve now, too. 

"Age is just a number."

At that, Steve's face hardens. “No, age is a real criterion in the real world, in the _adult_ world. You’re too young to give consent –”

“I’m not –”

“I’m serious, Peter,” Steve talks over him, “you’re worth so much more than becoming just another notch in Stark’s bedpost. He’s a playboy, Peter. To men like Tony Stark, you’re the shiny new thing and once he gets bored, he’ll discard you for the next attractive young man that catches his eye and you'll be left to pick up the pieces. Don’t do that to yourself, please.”

“But he’s, uh, he’s been in steady relationships before, right? I mean, there’s Pepper Potts and…” Peter stammers, cursing himself. Not helping his cause, is he? 

“Yeah, and see how long that lasted?” Steve points out. “And that’s with someone closer to him in age,” he adds pointedly. “Stark’s all about his work. No one is ever going to come first, Peter, and you’re no exception. The sooner you realize that and keep yourself safe, the better.”

Peter bites his lips. He wants to protest but after seeing first-hand how passionate and focused Tony is, how he drops everything at a moment’s notice to rush to the upstate facility and check on a potential emergency… maybe Steve has a point. 

Or half a point. After all, Steve hasn't seen the brilliant smile Tony gave him, or heard the carefree laughter during their lube fight. Steve didn't feel the air between them sizzle right up until their almost-kisses.

“Do you understand?”

Oh, Steve’s still waiting for a reply.

"Yeah... I guess?"

It’s good enough for now, apparently, cause Steve nods. Then he places a brotherly hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

“You know you can talk to me if you have any questions, don’t you? I’m, well. Crushes like that ... they’re part of growing up. Maybe I can help.”

Peter nods, weighing his options. There is something he’s been wondering, since doing it at home is much too risky with May technically in charge of the household appliances...

“Do you know a, um,” he begins. “Do you know a discrete dry-cleaner?”

Peter not only receives an inexpensive solution, he also gets to see Steve Rogers speechless.

*

Still, Peter’s concentration is shot for the rest of the day. His mind just can’t stop mulling over the issue, and by the time he closes the shop, Peter could write a dissertation on the topic of consent alone.

He can’t even enjoy Tony dropping by to finish opening up the walls so they can exchange the wiring upstairs, all because he can’t get Steve’s stupid words out of his head. 

They make Peter question every syllable Tony says, from his “Hey, Peter” when he finally arrives – “Beyond fashionably late, I know,” – to his explanation of what degree of destruction the idiotic lab technician at SI almost caused by her carelessness. 

“… and then Happy said, ‘Sorry, boss, but he wasn’t wearing his badge’ and – and I lost you, how could I lose you? You love the Bruce stories!”

Peter blinks at the plaster he’s been mechanically removing on one side of the door that’s going to lead to the break room. Tony’s on the other side of the door frame, in jeans, a tank top – when did he remove his shirt? – and copious amounts of dust from the work. 

It makes Peter want to reach out and wipe the dirt off Tony’s bare biceps, to trace the outline of his clavicle above the hem of his – 

“Seriously, what’s with you today? Prime opportunity for some destruction. Here I thought you millennials were supposed to be great at that; what’d you kill last month? Travel agencies? Oh come on, that was worth a laugh. Or a chuckle, at the very least."

Peter’s plan is to play along, laugh, pretend everything’s fine and that his skin’s not on fire from how much he wants – _god_ , he wants – but what escapes him is, “Why’re you, uh, why’re you doing this?”

Tony looks from him to the open wall and back. 

“Cause I’ve yet to develop a way to exchange wires through several layers of material. I’ll get there eventually, kid, don’t doubt that for a second, but until then…”

 _Leave it at that, just shut up_ , a voice in his head says but now that he’s started Peter can’t stop himself. 

“No, um, I mean… this. Why’re you helping m- helping us?”

Tony’s face does something complicated before his features smooth over. “Well,” he begins on an exhale, “you’re a smart ki– guy, can’t let that mind go to waste. You're actually not boring to be around, which is like, the highest praise I'm capable of, seriously."

Tony grins at him and Peter thinks his heart’s going to beat out of his chest. 

Tony averts his eyes immediately. "Well, and, you know. Remodeling is fun.” 

Peter’s stomach jolts and he opens his mouth to speak but Tony’s not done yet. 

“Especially when it’s a choice, you know, not when some crazy AI decides your Tower needs a do-over…”

“Fun,” Peter repeats. 

Tony squints at him, brow creasing. 

Peter clears his throat, inhales deeply, and says, "It could be a lot more fun.”

He sees the second Tony decides to protest and pushes forward, because damn it, if he doesn’t talk about this now, he’s going to implode. 

“No, hear me out,” he says. “I’ve given this a lot of thought and I’ve read a lot about consent – well, googled on my phone, but, uh… I mean, we’re never gonna be on even footing, are we? You’re… well, _you_ , and I’m just… But I still got a say in this. I’m walking into this with my eyes open, okay? I’m a smart guy, you said so yourself.”

When he’s done Peter realizes he took a few steps forward, which puts him in front of the empty doorway. 

Tony isn’t objecting, so he keeps going. 

“And I’m smart enough to know that you want me. And I want you, too, and we’ll be smart enough to not get caught, right? Oh, and,” Peter adds, gesturing wildly now and too nervous to care if it seems awkward, “there’s JARVIS! I mean, he doesn’t seem to like me, uh, much? But he’ll look out for you and make sure we aren’t caught if you tell him to, right, so… why can’t we just _do_ it?”

Tony looks at him for the longest moment of his entire life. Peter fears that he’s going to say no, but what comes out is… 

“We’ll be careful.”

It’s more of a question than a statement. 

Peter nods. 

“And we’re not gonna let this… escalate. We’re just having fun, we’re two consenting ad– individuals,” Tony corrects without missing a beat. “We’ll keep it simple, like two-bases simple.”

Peter stops nodding. “But –”

“No butts, kid, that’s the point I’m trying to make.”

The pun and its implications take a second to make it through to him, yet when they do the sudden surge of _YES_ knocks a laugh out of Peter. 

“You’re – you mean, we’re…?”

Tony’s chest rises with his inhale and he releases the breath gradually, like he, too, can feel the weight of the moment stretch between them. Then he takes a deliberate step forward, and another, coming to a stop only _inches_ from Peter in front of the open doorway. 

Peter can’t breathe, can’t think except for _what’s taking so long, shit, that’s it,_ and damn it, he’s done waiting –

This time it’s Peter who closes the gap, who takes the first step, and maybe that’s what Tony’s been waiting for since it’s like flicking a switch. Suddenly there are hands on his hips and back, lips he’s been dreaming about on his, and the smell of Tony’s cologne tangled with the dusty air of the construction site. 

Peter’s back connects with the old door frame but it barely registers cause that’s the moment Tony pushes up against him, pinning him in place with his body weight alone. 

Not that Peter would want to escape if he had the chance. 

His hips start moving of their own accord and Peter feels Tony smile against his lips between kisses. Heart in his throat, Peter places both hands on Tony’s upper arms, feeling the muscles flex underneath the skin there, feeling their strength and yearning for more – 

Tony pulls back and Peter instinctively chases his lips, which earns him a hand on the chest. He immediately leans into the touch but he’s no match for Tony’s strength. Which, oh, the possibilities…

“Not a race, kid,” Tony teases. “We’ve got all the time in the world now.”

Peter makes an embarrassing noise before he can rein it in. Fortunately, Tony chuckles and kisses a path down the line of his neck, so slowly that Peter wonders if Tony meant that last bit literally. 

Then he gasps because Tony has slipped his fingers underneath the hem of his T-shirt, between his hip and his happy trail. Tony’s not even doing much, just moving his fingers in lazy circles, but combined with the mind-blowing _things_ Tony does to his neck, it’s enough to set all of Peter’s nerve endings on fire. 

When Tony kisses his way back to his mouth, Peter is shaking, breath catching every time Tony’s beard scrapes against his skin. He moans into their next kiss and runs his hands along Tony’s shoulders. 

He has no idea if he needs to be careful with his fingernails or not, but coherence isn’t really an option right now, not with the feeling of Tony’s hard-on against his stomach, and _especially_ not when Tony’s thigh slips between Peter’s legs. 

It’s like they’re picking up where they left off and Peter’s body is more than ready for it even if his mind’s struggling with the awesome overload. 

Every shift of Tony’s leg teases a noise from him but rather than laugh, the whimpers and stifled gasps seem to be edging Tony on cause he picks up the pace, varies the angle, basically does a millions things to Peter while still kissing him. All Peter manages is to dig his fingers into Tony’s biceps again or else he’d crumble into a pile of pleasure and lust. 

It’s the hand in his hair that sends him over the edge. The surge of pleasure hits Peter completely out of the blue, whitening out his vision and making him shudder with release. Tony holds him close through the aftershocks and places a slow, burning kiss on his lips as the world starts returning to Peter. 

“Sorry,” is the first thing he says, “I’m so sorry, I should’ve –”

“Why the heck are you apologizing? That’s one hell of a compliment.” Tony smirks at him and Peter relaxes again. “Good to know I’ve still got it.”

“Oh yeah, you, uh, that was…”

“Awesome?” Tony suggests, his smirk widening. 

Peter feels his face heat. “Yeah.”

Without Tony up against him, Peter can peel himself off the doorframe – _ouch_ – and wonder why he feels like something’s miss– 

_Oh._ His eyes snap to Tony’s groin. 

Tony catches the look and laughs that sincere, open laugh of his that Peter plays on a loop whenever Flash gets on his nerves again. 

“Ha, your face. Don’t worry about it. Like I said: all the time in the world.”

“But don’t you wanna, uh,” Peter licks his lip. “Or I could try –”

“Christ, kid, if you finish that sentence you’re not getting home before midnight.”

Peter blinks. “Is that supposed to put me off?” 

His quip (well, half quip, half serious question) earns him a playful shove and another grin. If it weren’t a school night, Peter would do something, but since he’s got no clue what – how do you seduce someone? Or, uh, do… other things? – maybe it’s better to leave tonight at that. 

Besides, his pants are beginning to stick to him in a not-so-fun way.

Tony calls him a car and they discuss when to meet next to continue the remodeling until it pulls up. Peter doesn’t open the staff entrance door right away, though. 

Instead he turns around and steals a goodnight kiss – because now he can. 

He misses Tony’s mouth at his first try and it’s awkward and embarrassing but also hot and perfect and awesome and, and, and… Peter’s gonna need to look up more adjectives. 

“Now shoo,” Tony tells him eventually, opening the door. “Can’t leave the car waiting too long, it’ll get annoyed and stop at yellow.”

Peter tumbles into the narrow side street. The nearest security camera is on one level with the street light, which is a good five meters away.

“What do you – wait, is it sentient? That would be awesome!”

Tony only shakes his head and chuckles. He’s already walking towards the second driver-less car, but before he reaches it Tony twists without breaking his stride and sends him a smile. 

Peter’s heart literally skips a beat.


	10. ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After four VERY BAD DAYS, caps definitely necessary, in the wake of leaving the bubble of the inpatient treatment center, I'm starting the weekend by finally posting this chapter <3
> 
> Unofficial chapter title: "The Deliverance from Blueballsville", which according to merlenhiver is an actual location. My own favourite sentence buried within the many drafts of this chapter is also the reason this took so long to write: "It’s hard – pun intended – to find the right combination of sexy and sixteen…"
> 
> BUT it's done, it's here! Yay!  
> 

It’s already five minutes past ten on Saturday morning when Bucky enters the _Hybrid Puppy_ , in uniform even though off-duty. 

Peter waves at him – a bit too enthusiastically, though, and he almost spills the Low-Fat Sugar-Free No Whipped Cream Are You Crazy Caramel Latte over the Executive Assistant glancing at her StarkWatch every few seconds. 

“How long?” Bucky mouths with a grin. 

“Give me…” Peter sizes up the line from the counter to the front door. “Give me fifteen minutes?”

Fourteen minutes and three “Is Tony Stark really a regular?”s later, Peter leaves Lorinda and the new guy to handle the midday lull and carries boxes with Bucky and Sam. 

The Neighborhood Avengers sometimes help people move, especially to and from more dangerous areas. Bucky’s uniform scares off most troublemakers and Sam manages to talk down the rest. Peter’s mainly there for his upper-body strength and his ability to charm grandmothers into making them lemonade. 

“Thanks, brother.” Sam downs his glass in one go with Bucky cheering him on. 

Said grandmother – a tiny lady called Edith residing next to Bradley and Suzanne, the couple they’re helping – seems to find Sam adorable and pulls him into her apartment with a comment about photos of grandkids.

Peter is too busy laughing to remember why he shouldn’t unbutton the collar of his shirt. 

Bucky’s eyes find the hickey with a sniper’s precision. 

“Oh, no,” Peter says immediately, “that’s not what it – well, it is, but not from the m- the person you’re thinking!”

Bucky arches a dubious eyebrow at him. 

“Seriously!” Peter vows. “Steve’s talk, it, uh – he really talked some sense into me. You know how he is,” Peter adds with a shrug and mentally sighs in relief when Bucky’s brow unfurrows and he grins fondly. 

“Yeah, he does that, doesn’t he? Annoying little shit. So, Peter… Tell me all about this new guy.” 

Panic floods Peter again. He’s able to push it down as quickly as it came – but now he needs a cover story, _any_ cover story. 

“Uh, he’s, uh, he’s not out yet and we’re, uh, we’re keeping it on the down low, you know?” Peter swallows. “He’s my age, though, literally even. Uh, his name’s Eugene.” Peter prays to whatever deity is listening that Flash will never, ever find out about this. “And it’s, uh, it’s good, we’re having fun…”

Bucky’s nodding along with a sort of ‘my little brother’s getting some’ smile. Steve would have been a lot more suspicious and asked about whether they’re being safe, but Bucky either actually _bought_ Peter’s Eugene cover story, or figures that Peter’s smart enough to know about condoms. Which he is, for the record. He totally listened during Sex Ed. 

“But, um, there’s one thing…” Peter bites his lip and Bucky leans in with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. 

“Oh yeah? Tell me, little gay duckling – what secrets do you want to know?” 

Peter can’t stop his face from heating up as he stammers out a, “Do you, uh, do you have any advice on, on oral sex?”

Bucky throws his head back and barks out a laugh. 

“Advice? Peter, you’re talking to the fucking guru of oral pleasure! Just ask Steve – or better don’t, he’s always so uptight with other people. Come on, let’s ditch Wilson, grab some pizza and let me impart some wisdom on your innocent little brain.”

Peter survives the surprisingly helpful talk without too much blushing, for which he thinks he deserves some sort of medal. 

“But Peter,” Bucky adds, suddenly somber, “no matter what you do, it’s about both of you enjoying it, okay? Don’t worry too much about technique. You’ll hear and feel if you’re doing it right.”

Peter nods, filing it all away until later that day when Tony and he will _finally_ move from the first floor of the _Hybrid Puppy_ to the Tower to design the necessary tech. The past week was a flurry of school and work and remodeling and hot make-out sessions in-between, which is awesome, but Peter wants more. 

It’s like Tony has been set on raking up karma by giving Peter as many orgasms as he possibly can without taking any for himself. Either that’s the Tony Stark way of ‘taking it slow’ – _or_ , a voice that sounds suspiciously like Steve adds, _maybe Tony does feel guilty after all_. 

Regardless of the reason behind this weird, lopsided orgasm distribution curve, Peter intends to change that this weekend. He’s sure there’s a pun in there somewhere about taking matters into his own hands, but right now he’s too busy trying to figure out what to stare at first.

Tony must have come straight from some meeting that ran long to the garage where JARVIS told Peter to wait and not touch anything, meaning he’s still in his shirt and waistcoat when he arrives. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms, but it’s what he’s carrying that distracts Peter even more. 

“Yeah, that’s supposed to be the next generation,” Tony explains after Peter’s breathless question, waving the StarkPad about like it’s just another tool, not an eye-boggling pinnacle of human technology. “Still trying to make it commercially viable, though… Guess I should’ve found a cheap way to synthesize my element first before integrating it into prototypes. Here, pull up the schematics, I’ll make coffee.”

With that, Tony hands the device to Peter and walks towards the machine. 

Peter’s eyes follow him for a moment but there’s a StarkPad prototype in his hands which he’s supposed to use and obviously the geek in him wins this fight with his libido. 

Which is really aw– _splendid_ , cause Peter can be as awkward as he wants – or is, simply – without anyone laughing at him. He also doesn’t need to pretend he understands all of Tony’s science babble once they’ve moved on to the tinkering part of the evening. 

At the moment, the other man’s talking algorithms for the _Hybrid Puppy_ ’s new website but Peter gave up ever following along about three minutes ago. 

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupts then, “order ‘We All Gotta Eat’ will be ready in ten minutes.”

The AI’s posh British voice mimicking American slang has Peter laugh into the circuit board he’s assembling.

“… throw in a few more servers for – oh, right, great timing, J.” Turning to Peter, Tony says, “Once you’re done, let’s clean up.”

Peter checks and finds he has no way of drawing this out. He feels his shoulders slump. “Oh, right, sorry… It’s already, uh, late, I guess?” 

Tony stops on his way over to put their mugs into the sink for Butterfingers to clean later – how awesome is that? How, uh, _sublime_? – and tilts his head at Peter. 

“I’m not kicking you out.” 

That’s all he says on the matter, so after Peter has restored the workstation to at least a semblance of order, he’s completely surprised when Tony leads him to the private elevator in the wall separating the workshop from the garage. 

It’s luxurious, even for Manhattan standards. It’s still an elevator, but the grey velvet adds an air of exclusivity much like the lack of mirrors or music… and, well, the stripe of sensors near the ceiling. 

Tony leans back against the largest wall and watches Peter fidget for a moment, then startle when they suddenly start moving. 

“It’s the only one in the entire Tower that goes all the way up. JARVIS runs it,” Tony says. “Can’t get more secure.”

“All the way up?” Peter echoes. 

Tony nods. But why would they… 

“I believe I owe you dinner, kid.”

Peter’s pulse stutters when he remembers. It’s hard to concentrate on the happier half of that particular evening, but May’s been doing – well, not good, but better – and, and Peter’s about to have dinner with Tony Stark. 

Dinner with _Tony Stark_. 

Dinner with Tony Stark _in the penthouse of the Tower_. 

“Woah…” is all Peter manages when the elevator doors open to reveal a breathtaking view of Manhattan through tinted windows. 

Tony cuts across a, uh, a living area, for lack of a better word, towards a wide staircase. He’s still in his waistcoat and shirt with the top buttons undone but now there are _smudges_ peppered along his under arm and one on his left jaw. There’s also a speck of metallic dust on his dress pants near his right hip, inches away from… 

Peter trips on the first step of the wide staircase and quickly refocuses his attention on the surroundings. He takes it all in as fast as he can, noting the sensors and screens and customized tech _everywhere_ , along with – 

“Is that a lab?”

“Yup,” Tony confirms, a few steps above him. “That’s where Ultron happened, if we’re doing the tour. That’s also where Bruce did the thing that earned him the ‘Don’t worry, it’s not my blood’ lab coat. Oh, and where Rhodey broke his little toe.” Tony pauses, then shakes his head with a chuckle at the memory. 

“And this,” he says, taking the last few steps two at a time and spinning on the landing with a grin, “is the actual penthouse.”

Peter would have expected it to feel like walking into a photo spread in some interior design magazine but the penthouse suite is… _homey_. 

Photos – like, _actually developed pictures_ , not some digital frame – here and there, featuring Tony with Colonel Rhodes or Dr. Banner, and some with Mr. Hogan and Pepper Potts. Left of the elevator, Peter spots silly pillows mixed in with the normal ones on the enormous sofa. To his right, there’s a bowl of fruit that’s worth about as much as Peter’s entire weekly food budget. A miniature whiteboard on the fridge holds two different scrawls arguing over some equation.

And on the dinner table near the kitchen, the last thing Peter would have imagined – burgers and French fries.

“Roasted, not fried, and the meat’s from happy pigs,” Tony says on his way to the mini bar. 

Or rather, bar – there’s nothing ‘mini’ about the counter in front of glass shelves full of high-end liquor, syrups, and juices.

Tony picks up a glass and throws it from hand to hand with a grin. “What’s your poison, kid?”

Peter blinks. “Uh, w-water?”

“Wise choice.”

“What would you have said if I’d gone with, uh… with a martini?” 

It’s the only cocktail Peter knows, if only because MJ made them watch _Casino Royale_ this summer. 

Tony smirks. “Shaken or stirred?”

Peter is about to point out that he’s not allowed to drink yet but Tony beats him to it with a laugh. 

“Yeah, like I’d give you anything other than water. Or soda. Maybe some sort of smoothie if you wanna live on the edge, cause Dummy hasn’t really mastered making them yet. Come on, take a seat. And have my salad, too, I don’t get why they keep forcing that on me…”

Tony pours himself a whiskey, then another one after a dinner spent debating whether a smoothie-making robot would be a viable business idea.

“Not bad, kid,” Tony says from the bar, “but I wouldn’t switch to an econ major just yet.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Peter grins, rising from his chair. 

Tony tilts the tumbler at him to follow and lets himself fall onto the sofa with a grace that Peter wouldn’t manage even in his dreams. He’s distracted for a moment because – 

“Oh god, this is super comfy!” 

Because he apparently has to geek out over the softest sofa he has ever, ever sat on. Tony throws his head back and laughs. 

Which is when Peter notices Tony’s position – legs apart, leaning back, and oh so inviting. 

Okay. He can do this. More importantly, he wants to do this, and he’d bet his soul that Tony wants it, too. 

When Tony looks at him again, Peter has already shifted closer. Any quick movements would’ve escalated to flailing, so Peter makes sure to take his time, do this right. Tony lets him climb onto his lap, legs on either side of his hip, and just looks up at Peter with a soft smile on his lips. 

Deliberately, Peter shuffles into place. He watches Tony’s pupils dilate, licks his lips, and pulls himself closer with his hands on Tony’s shoulders. The smell of Tony’s cologne has long since faded, and from this position Peter sees the traces of the day on the blue material of Tony’s shirt and the charcoal waistcoat. 

A wave of need hits Peter so hard he can’t not reach down and start opening the first button. It’s hard cause his hands are shaking and Tony’s not helping, just observing as Peter uncovers more and more of Tony’s dress shirt. 

Once he’s done, Peter runs his fingers back up Tony’s chest, along what’s exposed of his throat until he’s cupping Tony’s face for a kiss. 

The lingering taste of whiskey adds a sharp edge to it that Peter finds he likes, but he likes it a lot more when Tony surges forward, wraps his hands around Peter – using the moment to set down his glass with a _clink_ on the coffee table – and deepens the kiss. 

Peter can feel the restraint in Tony’s touches and the way his hands slide along Peter’ spine, but when he wiggles a little the other man’s, uh, _interest_ is unmistakable. Emboldened, Peter pulls back. His heart jumps into his throat when this time it’s Tony chasing his lips, but Peter knows it’s now or never and he’s already sliding to the floor. 

His knees connect with the plush carpet with a dull _thud_ – smooth, Parker – and he miscalculated so he has to quickly adjust how near he is to Tony’s legs while understanding dawns on the other man. 

“You don’t have to,” Tony says, but it sounds like it costs him to say. 

“Well, duh. I want to. I’ve never really done this before, though, so, uh…”

Which is as far as he gets before Tony’s groan drowns out the rest of Peter’s sentence. 

“Sorry?” 

“No, no, no, don’t be, damn,” Tony says, waving a hand, “I absolutely volunteer for your, hm… ambitious exploring.”

Peter grins up at him, then takes a deep breath, eyes on the buttons of Tony’s fly. Of course Tony Stark has dress pants with buttons. A zipper would have been loads easier but Peter takes it as a challenge. 

With Tony’s help he reveals a black pair of designer underwear. Peter almost asks if they shouldn’t fold the pants cause Tony just toes them off along with his shoes and socks, but the outline of Tony’ erection distracts him. 

He reaches out a hand before he can think too much about it. It’s weirdly familiar – sure, the angle is different and the fabric of the boxer briefs too soft, but Peter knows this. He likes teasing himself through his briefs and Tony exhales sharply when Peter runs his thumb over the head. 

Tony’s own fingers are fisted into the pillows on either side of him, knuckles whitening, and Peter know he wants them in his hair soon. 

Alright. Deep breath. 

Peter aims for patience but what happens is that Tony intervenes and peels off his boxer briefs himself when Peter stops mid-thigh because he’s looking directly at another man’s penis for the first time. 

Like, right in front of him, in all its circumcised glory. 

It’s _awesome_. 

There’s a vein running along the side and well-groomed pubic hair partially hiding the balls… and a bead of precome already gathering at the tip. The sight makes him look up with a smug grin where he finds Tony watching him with dark eyes and parted lips. 

It sends a shiver down Peter’s spine that finally gets him moving for real. 

Between a chorus of _‘I’m touching another person’s hard-on’_ and _‘Tony Stark’s breath is hitching because of me’_ , Peter discovers Tony likes more pressure combined with slower movements and that the fine line between the glans and the shaft is especially sensitive. 

It should be spectacularly awesome if Peter – 

“Ngh,” Tony gasps. 

Peter pulls his tongue back, then leans back in when it’s clear he’s on the right track. Experimental licks morph into first attempts at taking some of Tony into his mouth. He can’t fit much, but he’s careful to cover his teeth cause Bucky was pretty adamant about that, and judging by the way Tony’s breathing speeds up, it’s fine. 

It’s more than fine, Peter finds – the weight of it on his tongue is enough to make his own erection throb in his pants, yet he ignores it, for now. He needs to find a rhythm first, build up a flow like he’s seen in the few videos he dared to look up online. 

Tony is keeping his hips painstakingly still, which has the exact opposite effect on Peter as he thinks was intended, cause he doubles his efforts to shatter what self-control the other man still has. 

The solution, it turns out, is sucking. 

Hollowing his cheeks to create pressure earns Peter a surprised gasp, working the head between his lips and tongue a really hot “Fuck!”, and moving up and down at a deliberately slow pace has Tony throw his head back with a moan as his hands finally stop mangling the sofa and start gripping Peter’s hair.

It’s Peter’s turn to moan and the vibrations of it around Tony’s cock seem to be amazing, too, so Peter stops holding back the sounds he’s been wanting to make. 

Then Tony’s hips jerk and Peter makes embarrassing choking noises instead for a moment. He clears his throat and dives back in immediately. When he reaches as far as he can go, Peter pauses, breathing in the enticing smell and – 

“Ngh…”

Peter pulls off long enough to smile up at Tony. He’s got to be blushing like crazy but the haze of lust and pleasure makes that seem secondary. 

He’s secure enough in coordinating his mouth with his left hand to cover most of Tony’s erection – oh yeah, he’ll definitely need to practice to improve that, Peter decides with a jolt of anticipation – and his own is crossing over into ‘painfully hard’ territory, so Peter fumbles for his zipper. 

It’s challenging but even more amazing for it cause Tony starts directing his movements. One hand in Peter’s hair centers him, the other changes the angle of Tony’s cock as it slips in and out between Peter’s lips. 

For the first time it feels like they’re actually experiencing this well and truly _together_. This isn’t Tony ignoring his own needs while getting Peter off, and it isn’t some reversal of that either – this is _both of them_ drawing pleasure, this is them finally on equal footing in this, this… whatever this is. 

And it feels incredible. The charge in the air between them is almost palpable; it builds and builds, the gasps and hitches and small moans, the strained muttering and labored breathing, the shift of Tony’s shirt against Peter’s cheek, the uncontrolled trembling in Tony’s thighs, all coalescing into a huge ball of pleasure that hits Peter with the force of a hurricane. 

He has to pull off during his orgasm or else he’d probably choke while coming into his palm, so he rests his head against Tony’s knee instead. He has no idea what to do with his wet hand now… except wrap it around Tony’s still-hard cock. 

“Fuck!” Tony’s hands are back to fisting the pillows in a split second.

“So it’s okay for my first time?” Peter wonders out loud and startles when he feels the erection in his hand actually twitch. 

Two more strokes and Tony gasps one last time, spilling himself over Peter’s already soiled hand. Peter is careful to stop his movements before Tony becomes too sensitive, and stares at his fingers. Their combined fluid is drying rapidly and Peter can’t look away. 

He wonders what it would taste like. 

Well… No time like the present to find out. 

“Christ, kid, you’re killing me here.”

Tony looks absolutely wrecked – open waistcoat, rumpled shirt, naked from the waist down – and his eyes are alight with something a lot more potent than lust. 

Peter allows himself a grin to celebrate when Tony lies boneless on the sofa, closing his eyes and breathing hard.

He grasps for something smooth to say, something cool and smug, but what comes out is “Uh, wipes?”

Fortunately, Tony finds it amusing. “Nah, that’s what washcloths and towels are for. Hang on…”

With a groan, Tony peels himself off the couch and pulls Peter to his feet as well. Peter still has his pants around his knees, which leads to some flapping about, but it also means that Tony has to reach out and steady him. 

It’s the most natural thing to look up and steal a kiss. 

Maybe not the most _sensible_ thing, though, cause tasting Tony again sends his mind back to the really, uh, _incredible_ blow job and his blood downward again. 

When Tony feels it, he chuckles into the kiss. Peter ducks his head and rubs his neck with his clean hand while he tries to get his body back under control. 

Peter does up his pants and nods on an exhale, then is immediately pulled along behind Tony who, naked from the waist down, cuts across the living area to a, well… ‘bathroom’ wouldn’t quite cover it.

“Pretty cool, right?” Tony says, opening the row of cupboards between the door and the enormous shower. It has three shower heads. There’s also an enormous tub right next to it – like, fitting-four-people big. Why you’d want to squeeze four people into the tub at the same time, though, Peter will never understand. 

Tony throws a fluffy cloth at Peter’s chest with a playful smirk. It’s even softer than the couch, but the hand towel Tony tosses at him later is from another world entirely. 

Peter has never spent this long on cleaning himself up, seriously. 

Once they're both presentable again, Tony even accompanies Peter down to the garage to the car that’s going to drive him home. His departure’s a bit delayed, though, cause one goodnight kiss leads to a lazy make-out session against the soft leather of the car which leaves Peter both breathless and smiling. 

He’s still smiling when he unlocks the door to their apartment.

May must have been waiting up for him cause she’s kneeling on the sofa facing the door, watching him startle and freeze up. 

She’s smirking… Phew. 

“Someone looks like they’ve been having fun.”

 _Or not._ Wait, did May talk to Bucky? Is this the follow-up he’s been dreading? 

“I, um... I was just,” Peter stutters, “and then, uh...”

“It’s fine,” she eventually saves him. “I’m glad, Peter. Your face... you look happy.”

“I am,” Peter says truthfully, biting his lip. “He’s… He’s good to me.” 

May nods. She twists, sitting back down and patting the spot next to her. Peter quickly puts down his bag and closes the door before joining her. She has that air about her where he isn’t sure whether or not she’s fully present and he doesn’t know what to do with that at the moment. 

She takes a deep breath and her eyes refocus. “Now, obligatory aunt question: Are you being safe?”

Peter licks his lips. “Yes, we are.”

It’s the truth. Tony is getting tested frequently and Peter... well, duh. 

May nods, satisfied. “And can I at least get a name?” 

Peter blinks. “Eugene,” is his knee-jerk reaction. In for a penny... “From school. But he’s not out yet, so please, May...”

“Don’t be embarrassing, yes, I get it. I once had my first boyfriend too, you know.”

“Oh, no, no, no, we’re not – I mean, we’re just...” 

But his aunt is laughing and raising her hand. Before he can relax, she sobers.

“As long as it _stays_ fun, okay? I don’t wanna have to pour coffee over someone for hurting my kid.” 

Peter chuckles since it’s either that or hugging May tightly cause he doesn’t doubt for a second she’d actually do it. Both to Flash and Tony. 

And the last one’s a confrontation he never wants to witness. Or hear about. Or think about, for that matter.

May ruffles his hair. “Now off to bed, okay? No screen time; it’s late.”

Peter nods, smiles at her and heads to his room, but the nagging sense of worry makes him pause with his hand on the doorknob.

“What about you?” he asks. 

“Huh?”

“Are you... are you okay?” 

Peter holds his breath for a moment. He can't quite tell whether May’s smile is sincere or forced as she promises him, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, Peter.”


	11. eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, folks! I apologise for my occasional delay in responding to comments... I'm not doing too well atm. But(tttt - sorry, couldn't resist^^)... _However,_ I'm getting back into a more extensive writing rhythm, so that's cause for hope =)
> 
> For the record, I'm really, really happy with this chapter. ENJOY, FOLKS!!!

There are signs. Whenever Tony is about to spectacularly screw things up, there are signs, and Pepper is one of the few lucky – or unlucky – individuals capable of reading them.

No, definitely unlucky, she decides. 

“What do you mean, he volunteered?” she demands of Benjamin, her chief assistant.

“I was being literal, Mrs. Potts,” he says with an honest-to-God _shrug_ , brushing a dreadlock out of his face. 

In a perfect world, Tony Stark doesn’t volunteer for press events. In the reality Pepper has the dubious joy of inhabiting, however, Tony does whenever he has an ulterior motive. 

And Tony’s ulterior motives tend to end in chaos. 

“Mrs. Potts, wait, please,” Benjamin gasps, but she has longer legs and stronger motivation. 

It’s satisfying to see that the employees of the executive floor have re-adjusted to her presence after two weeks back on overpriced Manhattan soil and are diving out of her way. Benjamin, meanwhile, takes a shortcut through the desk pool that Pepper wouldn’t get away with anymore ever since she’s moved on to upper management. 

“Mrs. Potts,” Benjamin says again, “this isn’t another Mia Hanson, this is quite normal for him, in fact.” 

Pepper stops and turns in one movement, which sends the eavesdropping colleagues back behind the office plants and partitions within the open-floor design. 

“How is volunteering for a press event _normal_ for Tony? He’s barely left his workshop since I returned.” 

“Well, it’s different with – uh, what did he tell you?” 

“Ben.” 

The young man braces himself, yet his explanation comes out rushed. “He says he likes their coffee and he wants to spread the amazing taste.” 

Pepper closes her eyes with an annoyed-exasperated sigh that’s reserved just for her boss. It took Tony two weeks to make her sigh like that this time around, a new record. At least now she knows, based on past experience, that the real shit show is still pending. 

Good – then she can investigate this _Hybrid Puppy_ before confronting Tony in person. 

Ben clears his throat. 

“Um, would now be a good time to get a final decision on this year’s Holiday Tree Design Competition?” 

*

It’s rather fortunate, as Pepper discovers, that Tony wants to handle the grand re-opening of his pet project, which follows in the wake of three days of general remodeling to align the rest of the shop with the brand new first floor. 

Mainly since she has yet to master splitting herself in half. 

Then again, the choice between a cute photo op at some coffee shop and appearing on Anderson Cooper’s _360°_ to explain that Stark Industries’s takeover of City Water isn’t one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse is… 

‘Duh,’ as Tony has become prone to saying.

“Welcome back, Mrs. Potts,” JARVIS greets her when she steps off the elevator to her office, where she heads straight for the Bourbon. Spending any time with Anderson Cooper is exhausting. Over one hundred minutes border on advanced interrogation techniques.

“Hi, JARVIS. Where’s Tony?”

“Downstairs in the workshop, ma’am.” A brief pause, which makes Pepper perk up. It’s not like the AI to be shy. “Sir’s company has just arrived.”

 _Oh. Wonderful…_

“Brief me on how the re-opening went as I go down?”

“Certainly, Mrs. Potts.” 

Once back inside the elevator, a set of clips and photos appear around her. The featured holographic video shows Tony in the midst of one of his speeches that always garner favorable coverage. It involves a lot of subtle pandering to the press so Tony doesn’t deliver them often, mostly when he’s trying to woo one of the people in charge – 

Of course. 

Pepper has to find another angle of the footage but once she does, she has to battle the urge to grab Happy and get right back on a plane. 

The shop’s owner, May Parker, is glowing with pride and joy and something darker that hails of trouble. She’s also directly in Tony’s line of sight while Tony offers some coffee-inspired pick-up lines to the audience gathered on the shop’s upper floor. 

Pepper better get downstairs before Tony causes another Crazy Ex-Girlfriend incident. One giant fake-blood-covered bunny is enough. 

Two minutes later, she’d gladly take five more of them. 

Because there is no May Parker adoringly watching Tony show off his prowess as an engineer. Instead, there’s a teenager lying right next to Tony underneath his newest Audi. 

The kid’s on a second creeper and is sliding it up and down, seemingly without being aware of doing so, but the proximity that Tony’s allowing – in addition to the fact that the teenager is handling actual tools, even if he’s just passing them to Tony – is… 

Well. _Disastrous_ in its implications. 

Even more disastrous is the practiced ease with which they’re moving. This clearly isn’t the boy’s first time in the workshop. 

“Why’re you – no, the other – yes, jeez, Peter, you been taking lessons from Dummy in tool-fetching?”

Pepper barely manages to stifle a gasp when she connects the voice to the owner’s _nephew_ in the footage from the shop, where he was standing right next to his aunt. 

“You know, he’s really hurt whenever you talk about him like that.”

“Oh come on, not this again, he knows I’d never _actually_ donate him to community college… Giving away enough as it is.”

“Yeah, uh, like, ten percent, you said?” the kid says, handing Tony another tool. “But, uh, that’s not really, I mean… you could do stuff, too.”

Tony’s sigh is audible even from underneath the Audi. 

“No, hear me out, I was thinking and, uh…”

“I thought we’d agreed on a no to the smoothie-making robots?”

Peter chuckles at that and Tony nudges the boy’s shoulder, from what Pepper can see. 

“No, no, it’s not about – you said you built this totally by yourself?”

It’s difficult to make out what he’s referring to. Tony hums in confirmation. 

“So there’s no labor cost?”

Pepper can hear the indulgent smile in Tony’s voice as he says, “No.”

“And you’ve still got the setup so you could – uh, I mean, hypothetically – you could make as much of the element as you wanted if you’ve got enough raw materials?” 

Oh – the arc reactor. This is crossing a line Pepper needs to defend. 

Yet before she can as much as clear her throat, Tony’s talking again. 

“Let me stop you right there, kid,” he begins, “cause you’re not the first to come up with that idea. Guess what, even my old man had it. Can’t be done, though. You realize this,” a metallic clonk suggests he’s tapping the arc reactor inside the Audi, “also makes a really useful bomb? You wanna hand out free bombs to people?”

“No, no, I get that,” Peter says with more fire than Pepper would have expected. “But if they’re used to give everyone free energy then why would anyone want to make a bomb?”

“Ha, first of all, who said anything about free, ever heard of operating costs? Just cause you now have a coffee machine you’re not gonna give away free coffee, are you?”

“But coffee’s a luxury item and energy’s –”

“Nope, not happening.”

“But you could help a lot of people with little effort –”

“You call creating a new element from scratch ‘little effort’? Gee, wonder what I could do if I really applied myself…”

The boy mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘A lot of awesome stuff’ but the scratching of the creeper’s wheels on the workshop floor drowns it out. 

Wearing stained jeans and a threadbare gray tee with the sad remains of a print on the front, Peter Parker emerges from underneath the car, rises to his feet and immediately freezes at the sight of Pepper. 

She gives him a distant, polite smile. 

Its usual effect is to send people scrambling for the exit. The kid, however, proves impervious to it. 

“Oh my god, you’re, you’re Pepper Potts!”

There’s a dull thud followed by colorful swearing and then Tony’s in front of her, spreading his arms wide while still holding on to a screwdriver. 

“Oh CEO, my CEO!” 

He’s wearing a white tank top today that provides a clear view of his arc reactor. Pepper files that observation away for later while glancing over Tony’s shoulder at the teenager positively vibrating and biting his lip.

“To what do I owe the honor of your late-night descent?” Tony asks. 

“It’s classified.”

“Oh, it’s not about the Christmas decorations, is it?”

“ _Holiday_ deco–”

“Decorations, yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll remember to be politically correct the second there’s a recording device shoved in my face, Pep. I read the memo – both memos, in fact. This year’s color scheme comes from the Edison Elementary School and it’s hot pink – though every pink’s hot pink, right, but I guess it makes it sound cooler, and… where was I? Oh yeah, hot pink, lime green, white and red. See?” Tony grins while Peter Parker does his best to stifle a laugh. “Not gonna be a repeat of last year, okay? I know my colors. And the school name. And not to drink before putting hand-crafted stars on top of trees in the lobby while cameras are rolling.”

Pepper heaves a sigh. “Tony.”

“Yes, dearest?”

She responds with a stern look and a nod towards the workshop door. 

The other man visibly deflates. “Yeah. Coming.” 

Then something happens that renders Pepper speechless.

Tony hands Peter the screwdriver he was holding and says, “Finish that circuit, will ya?”

And Peter Parker nods with the enthusiasm of an overactive puppy and is back underneath the Audi before Pepper can object. Despite his age, the kid seems to know what he’s doing – small mercies – so she can follow Tony out to the staircase and the elevators. 

The second the locks engage behind the soundproof glass, Pepper drops the smile.

“What the hell, Tony! The owner would have been bad enough, but the _son_? Are you out of your mind?” 

Tony opens his mouth. 

“No, don’t answer that, I need to talk to your brain right now, not your penis. Do you have any idea how big the scandal would be if this gets out? Can you imagine the effects on our company? Your company, the one you built, your life’s work? What, you want to throw that all away on, on, on some random twink?”

“Hey, he’s not some random –”

“Oh, this should be interesting,” Pepper cuts in, throwing her hands up. “Enlighten me, Tony: what is he?”

Tony breathes out with a vengeance but pauses long enough to actually think before he speaks. 

“Almost seventeen. We’re waiting, Pepper. We’re being careful. Nothing for you to worry about, alright?”

“Nothing to wo– can you even hear yourself?! Even if you wait, even if you technically break no law whatsoever, no one’s going to care, Tony! You’ll be the forty-something billionaire sleeping with a teenager working minimum wage at a business you’ve only invested in because you wanted to get into his pants.”

“Oh, you know that’s not –”

“I’m not finished,” Pepper hisses. “I need you to swear that you’re going to keep your hands off this, this, this _child_. Jesus, Tony, we’re taking over City Water in three weeks and you’re courting disaster! I knew you’re still the king of self-sabotage but I thought you’d learned to leave your company out of it.”

An array of conflicting emotions ghosts across Tony’s face for a few moments before regret and remorse win out and he meets her glare. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

Pepper crosses her arms. “Sorry is not going to cut it, Tony.”

“Fine!” he says, throwing his hands up. “I promise, okay?”

“Promise what?” 

When he meets her gaze again, Tony’s eyes are wide and sincere. Pepper looks for the cracks in the mask but she can’t find any. 

“I promise I’ll keep my hands off him.”

*

Tony traces the ridge of Peter’s collar bone with the tip of his finger before returning his hand to the kid’s left nipple. 

It’s long since swelled up from his touches and there’s a hint of saliva left from Tony’s tongue, but more licking would mean tearing his eyes away from the arch of Peter’s naked body splayed out on Tony’s favorite sheets, so that’s out. 

Peter himself is fighting to keep his eyes open, mostly because Tony’s other hand is stroking his cock. Tony’s knees have been resting on either side of Peter’s hips but now he’s sliding down. The kid's legs part further to make room with a neediness that makes Tony’s erection give a feeble attempt at a second life, yet he ignores it. 

He also ignores how Peter is tilting his pelvis to expose the area below his balls in a way the kid probably thinks is subtle and goes right for the long, thin cock that fits so perfectly in Tony’s mouth.

“Shit!” Peter gasps, which is followed by a string of vowels when Tony feels his cock hit the back of his throat. 

No matter how often they do this, Peter’s reactions remain as intensely hot as their first tumbles between... well, elevator walls and workshop benches. 

Peter deserves a bed, though. He deserves so much more than Tony can give him, but for some mysterious reason the kid’s decided he’d rather explore the pleasures of the flesh with a man in his forties than the closeted jocks from the water polo team. 

Most days, Tony can’t quite believe someone as good and pure as Peter thinks him worthy of his time but thoughts like that have been part of Tony’s life for so long that they’re like white noise. At least now he’s matured enough to recognize Peter’s attraction as something to be cherished while it lasts, not something to be exploited and tossed aside in his quest for instant gratification. 

Which is why he takes his time now, goes for torturously slow movements that make Peter whine and gasp and writhe on the mattress, arch his back to drive his cock further between Tony’s lips – to no avail, ha. The kid should know better by now, seriously. 

Tony massages the slit with the tip of his tongue on the next upstroke and puts more pressure on the arm across Peter’s stomach since the sensation causes the kid’s hips to jerk violently. Another few movements draw a flow of pleas from Peter – low, out-of-breath gasps that reverberate in the pit of Tony’s groin. 

Peter has a high tolerance for teasing – for a sixteen-year-old – but Tony has been pushing him even further tonight so… 

“Uh-uh, not yet,” Tony orders. 

Peter has no choice but to obey given the tight grip at the base if his erection that Tony’s maintaining. 

“No, please, I need –” Peter tries but doesn’t get much further until Tony rubs his thumb over the tip of his cock, spreading precome as he does.

“You were sayin’?”

All he gets is a strangled, “Ngh...”

“Yeah, that's what I figured.”

Peter is too far gone to laugh. Tony grins up at him from between his legs and swallows him down again. He slips his hands underneath Peter’s lower back to better coordinate the rhythm but first has to discard some shreds of wrapping paper from their belated present exchange. Each year, Tony’s in denial about how much charity he’s going to do during the holiday season, and each year there’s another line-up of events even he considers worthy of his time. 

Or, you know, some eight-year-old cancer kid in Wyoming who’s been vlogging about how Tony’s escape from his kidnappers has inspired them to fight their disease and whose only wish for Christmas is to meet him. Ugh. 

Anyway.

Peter’s gift to him was a coffee blend tailored to Tony’s exact preferences, handed over with a blush the shade of his wrapping paper. Tony had planned on finally giving Peter a StarkPhone but then Peter spent five minutes complaining about Toomes’s inability to figure out that his daughter would prefer a thoughtful gift over any amount of money he’s set on spending on a new tablet. 

So instead, Tony decided to put a stop to Peter constantly bemoaning the state of his school’s workshop equipment and put together an ultra-lightweight multi-purpose tool set which earned Tony the most spectacular make-out session his penthouse floor seen in a damn long time. 

Seriously, Manhattan could have been flooded with sewage and Tony wouldn’t have cared. Not that there was much of a chance in the first place, since by the time Peter managed to get away from the _Hybrid Puppy_ Posse’s New Year’s celebrations, City Water was safely in Tony’s hands.

Much like Peter’s balls at the moment. 

“Tony...” 

Peter’s voice is absolutely wrecked. Tony pulls off his cock, which earns him another whine followed by “Please, come on, this isn’t fair, this –”

“This is building stamina,” Tony points out. “Something you desperately need, right, what with my long refractory period?”

Peter bites his lip. “Look, I’m sorry I said that –”

“Don’t be,” Tony tells him, meaning it. Well, for the most part – but any sane man would harbor some residual jealousy for Peter’s ability to go again in like T minus five seconds. 

Which doesn’t mean he can’t tease him back for it.

“Just try to hold on a bit longer,” Tony says, then adds, “I'm gonna make it worth your while...”

“I don’t doubt th– nghhhh...”

That’s the last coherent thing Tony hears for the next couple of minutes as he goes back to torturing Peter’s erection with his tongue and the kid fights tooth and nail to ride the waves of pleasure without immediately hurtling over the edge. He has admirable body control, Tony has discovered. Must be leftover skills from his gymnastics days.

Well. Time to up the ante. 

Tony’s left hand traces slow circles upwards along Peter’s inner thigh until his knuckles brush against the soft skin of the testicles. Peter’s cock twitches deliciously between Tony’s lips as he massages them in time with the rhythm of his tongue.

It would be so, so easy to extend his fingers, to reach further, just this once...

The temptation is right there and Tony can’t think of any reason why a light caress would be a problem, so he goes for it with a jolt of adrenaline-fueled pleasure.

His touch is what finally shatters the kid’s self-control, sending Peter over the edge without warning. 

Tony eagerly welcomes the warm fluid flooding his mouth while keeping his eyes resolutely open. Peter in the throes of orgasm is a sight to behold – no restraint, just arched muscles and aborted gasps. 

Christ, Tony never wants this to end. 

He presses his lips to the inside of Peter’s thigh before climbing back up along his body to steal one of the kid’s greedy post-coital kisses. They may even be Tony’s favorite kinds of kisses since Peter’s still chasing pleasure and not thinking about whether or not he’s doing stuff right or if his partner’s having – 

“I can't wait till you’re inside me,” Peter whispers as they pull apart. 

For a heartbeat, everything stops. 

Once Tony’s mind is processing again, all he can do is moan and bury his head in Peter neck. But the kid’s not done yet. 

“It’s true, I, uh, I’ve been imagining it and practicing and…”

Tony’s head snaps up at that mental image. Peter trails off before he takes in Tony’s expression, which is probably somewhere between horny as fuck and pained abstinence. Then Peter licks his lips and shifts onto his side so they’re facing one another on the bed. 

“Yeah, you know, I wanna be prepared and not get lube everywhere, and, uh, it’s nice, you know, imagining that my fingers are actually yours and, um…”

It’s a good thing Peter obviously didn’t think this impromptu dirty talk through, cause if he’d continued with more details Tony would have had to handcuff himself to the shelf in the storage room far, far away from any bed-like surface in order to keep from turning Peter’s fantasies into reality. 

“New rule, kid,” Tony announces once he trusts his voice again. “No daydreaming until the actual day, okay?”

“But –”

“What did we say about butts?”

And Peter’s protests die in a laughing fit that’s embarrassingly infectious. Seriously, Tony’s standards for puns are usually much, much higher. 

Peter swallows another laugh and shifts on the bed. Some shuffling and he’s in Tony’s space again, a warm presence against his side with an even warmer smile. It’s only after another drawn-out kiss that Tony notices he hasn’t thought about City Water since Peter arrived, or listened for any alarms heralding the highly unlikely, if not improbable, event of a system failure. 

Now they’re flooding him once more, water-related pun definitely intended. 

Peter’s brow furrows. “You’re thinking again.”

“Yeah, I do that a lot.”

“No, I mean… You’re worrying.”

“Millions of people wanna start the New Year with a shower, kid. If anything goes wrong, they’ll never trust my products again.”

“Hm, they came back around after the Expo?” Peter suggests. “And after Ultron. I’d say you’ll be fine. And if not…” Peter continues with a jovial glint in his eyes, “now that you’ve convinced Toomes to bake for you, maybe you can bribe them with cupcakes?”

“Ha, sure, guess they won’t even notice I’m trying to distract them, right?”

Peter grins. “Made you laugh, though.”

Tony raises his free hand to object but finds the kid has a point, so he uses the movement to reach for his phone… which is still somewhere in the living room. 

“JARVIS, time?” he asks, then coughs when the clock hologram appears. “How can it be almost four in the morning?”

“I think that’s a side effect of stamina?” Peter offers before slipping out of bed and starting the quest for his clothes. 

Tony throws a pillow at him which Peter sidesteps, then replaces it on the bed once he’s dressed like the considerate young man he is. Tony, meanwhile, contends himself with the nearest dressing gown he can find. 

Outside in the lounge, Peter picks up his present with the gentlest touch imaginable. 

“Gawd, it’s a tool, Peter, it’s durable. Hell, that thing could survive a fall from the penthouse down to the workshop, let alone one from a coffee table… which is good cause you’re a klutz judging by your stories.”

“Ey, I’m not a… Well, I’m getting better. More sleep, better concentration… Haven’t dropped a single new mug at the shop!” 

“Ohhh, wow, give the guy a medal,” Tony teases as he puts an arm around Peter and accompanies him to the private elevator. 

Inside, Peter pockets the tool with only slightly less care. Tony rolls his eyes – fondly – and crowds the kid into the corner. They have twenty-two seconds until the elevator reaches the ground floor lobby and the car that’s coming to take Peter to Queens, and Tony intends to make every single one of them count. 

* 

Peter can’t stop replaying the many awesome moments of tonight in his mind. It’s like he’s floating rather than walking across the lobby after the elevator doors _dinged_ shut on the sight of Tony’s grin and swollen lips.

Peter doesn’t think anyone would blame him. Tony Stark just spent hours taking him apart with his tongue (and hands and _holy shit_ , fingers), and all that _after_ giving him a present.

He got a Christmas present from Tony. 

He got the awesomest, most brilliant –

“Ouch!”

Peter rubs his forehead, blinking at the still-closed exit, then at the nearest camera. 

No response.

“I’d think you’d be glad to see me go, Mr. JARVIS,” he grumbles but it’s still another two seconds before the AI explains itself.

“There is a police cruiser in the vicinity.” 

Peter immediately feels bad. “I’m sorry, Mr. JARVIS… That was rude.” Peter swallows. “Maybe, uh, because it’s a new year and all, we could, you know, start over? I mean, we’ve been careful and I don’t think I'm that bad for Tony and...”

The door opens, cutting him off. Peter’s stomach drops a bit. He knows it’s silly to be trying to win over a computer, but still. 

With a sigh he steps out into the cold air of January 1st. The driverless car is waiting a little way down the street – in order to distract from the existence of a side entrance to the Tower – and he ambles towards it against the noises of the city that are just as prominent as they were during the party at the _Hybrid Puppy_. 

Sam and MJ outdid themselves with food and Toomes had baked his “last muffins of freedom”, which is ridiculous cause all _The Sweet Vulture_ will be doing is delivering pastries to Stark Industries, not moving into the Tower. Underneath all the grumpy grousing, even Toomes gets that that’s a small sacrifice for the added publicity, let alone the money that –

_BWEEP!_

The harsh siren of a police car, complete with flashing lights, yanks Peter out of his thoughts. 

He has just about reached the driverless car and has no choice – or reason, really – not to turn around, but he makes sure to school his expression into the face of someone who hasn’t spent the past hour sprawled across Tony Stark’s bed.

A tall figure emerges from the cruiser, in the exact spot where the streetlights don’t reach. 

Peter clears his throat. “Hullo, officer. Is there a problem?”

Then the cop gets close enough and – 

“You could say that, Peter,” Steve replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*author cackles in the distance*_


	12. twelve

Peter has never felt this panicky in his life. 

“Uh, hi, uh, Steve. Happy new year! What’re you... I thought Bucky said you’re, uh, you’re helping out in Harlem?”

Steve doesn’t shake his head. Or smile. He’s damn intimidating when he’s scowling, especially with his hand resting on his belt next to the taser and club. 

“Since I’m not actively on duty, I thought I’d expand my jurisdiction a bit.”

Peter nods for lack of anything other to do. 

“Dropped by the _Hybrid Puppy_ earlier,” Steve continues. His tone doesn’t bode well at all. “Your aunt said you went to MJ afterwards. But MJ tweeted something about starting the new year in solitude like she prefers… and that made me wonder.” 

“You’re checking Twitter while you’re driving?” Peter blurts. “You know, that’s dangerous. You could…”

Steve is unimpressed. Peter winces. Maybe a half-truth…?

“I was just, uh… You see, I repaired Mr. Stark’s coffee machine in the workshop a couple of weeks ago and I left some coffee, too, but he’s run out and he said he couldn’t face the new year without caffeine, so I thought I’d, uh – and since I was awake anyway, I just…” He waves at the Tower rising behind him, then at the still-waiting car. “Then Mr. Stark offered to take me ho– uh, _have_ me taken home, I mean.”

Silence stretches for a few seconds. 

“You’re saying Stark left his own party early to accept a coffee delivery?”

 _No, he disappeared to exchange presents and kisses,_ is what Peter resolutely doesn’t say. Outwardly, he shrugs as nonchalantly as possible. 

“You’ve had Peter’s coffee, Officer Rogers, right? Of course I left my own party.” 

Peter jerks around. 

No, he didn’t hallucinate – Tony is actually standing there on the street with them, dressed in slacks and a blue cashmere sweater Peter saw among a pile of gifts in the penthouse. It hugs his body in all the right places. 

Steve doesn’t miss a beat. If anything, he looks even more suspicious than before. Seriously, Peter doesn’t need help, he totally –

“And it took three hours to restock?” Steve asks. 

_Oh._ On second thought… 

Tony shrugs and removes one hand from his pockets as he walks towards them. “Thick layers of security at the Tower. Took Peter some time to get inside, and then I couldn’t get rid of Jimmy – oh, you should know, right? Jimmy O’Neil Jr., Police Commissioner, ring a bell?”

Steve neither reacts nor steps back when Tony comes to a halt in front of him. 

Peter tries to signal Tony to stop, cause there’s nothing that’ll rile up Steve Rogers easier than perceived injustice. And Tony implying he can name-drop his way out of this situation is… yeah, not awesome. 

“Well, Jimmy’s been wanting to talk to me all night and I didn’t wanna postpone; never would have found the time… And Peter knows his way around the workshop, don’t you, kid?” 

Peter nods, opening his mouth but Tony talks over him. Probably for the best since he’s kind of a bad liar. 

“And I couldn’t let him leave before trying the hors d'oeuvres from the party.” Tony spreads his hands at that, like ‘voilà’. 

Peter holds his breath as he waits for Steve’s reaction. 

Which is no reaction at all. 

Steve merely regards Tony with a cold smile that makes Peter’s heart jump into his throat. Tony stares right back unflinchingly while Peter fidgets. 

Steve eventually breaks the silence. “Have you always been this good at lying?” 

“I don’t know, have you always been a meddling bastard?”

“Yes,” Steve confirms immediately, echoing Peter’s thoughts. “And you’re not fooling anyone, Mr. Stark.”

“Steve,” Peter tries to interrupt only to be talked over.

“Oh no, Peter, I wanna hear this,” Tony says with an intrigued tilt of his head. His eyes never leave the other man. “What exactly do you think is going on here, Officer?”

More staring. 

When Steve speaks again, Peter feels all the blood leave his face. 

“I think, Mr. Stark, that you’re exploiting the infatuation of a child who’s made you his hero. I think that you’re too narcissistic to see anything beyond your own personal gratification and that you have no regard for the consequences of your actions."

"Ha, that's some big words there, buddy," Tony sneers, but there's hardly any heat to it.

“I’ve got an even bigger one,” Steve says, hands fisted at the side as he takes his first step towards Tony, who’s meeting his glare with a clenched jaw. “You’re a pedophile.”

It makes Tony flinch, but Peter only registers that out of the corner of his eyes cause that’s it, he’s had enough, he’s intervening. 

“He’s not! And he’s not exploiting me, I want this –”

“You don’t know what you wa–”

“Bullshit!” Peter snaps with more vehemence than he remembers ever using. “You adults are always saying that, but I _do_ know, okay, and I get that it's unconventional but that doesn't make it wrong. You’re blowing this way out of proportion so just back off!” 

Stunned silence follows his outburst. 

Tony is gaping at him in wonder and Peter needs to find other, less stressful ways to recreate that look cause it's all kinds of brilliant.

Steve is much less enticed. With an audible exhale, he turns to Tony. “I should arrest you right here, right now.”

Peter’s eyes widen but Tony is already talking.

“Yeah, you could. You’re not gonna find any evidence but it’s not like the public’s gonna care about that, right?” Tony gives a low whistle. “Damn, imagine the boner on John Oliver. And sure, most half-decent networks would include a short blip about the total _lack_ of conclusive evidence but there’re enough pictures online for some greedy lowlife to have some fun with photoshop and fan the flames… Guess my stock’s gonna survive the nosedive but we're gonna have to downsize…”

Steve’s glare falters. Tony grins humorlessly. 

“Yes, poor chaps’re gonna find a new position in a week with SI on their resume. Or they would, if they had any water to shower for their job interviews.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Steve asks. 

Tony spreads his palms. “The entire grid’s running on my tech now. It’s gonna be fine for about a year, then you’re gonna need some serious maintenance work. Guess I should have trained an apprentice in case I go to prison cause some self-righteous dickhead thinks he’s gotta play savior for the most mature sixteen year old I’ve ever met.” 

Peter’s face colors at the compliment. 

“So instead of lecturing _me_ on the consequences of my actions,” Tony continues in a tone so cold it matches Steve’s to the degree, “I’d suggest you contemplate the effects of your own impulses and then decide if the, what’d you call it? _Personal gratification_ of putting me behind bars outweighs the effect on the people around you.”

Peter holds his breath as Steve holds Tony’s gaze for several torturous seconds. He can see how torn the man is, and how much it rubs him the wrong way that Tony has turned his own argument against him. Peter can’t say what ultimately tips the scale – whether it’s the fact that Peter’s an active participant or what Tony said about Stark Industries, or a combination of both – but after an eternity, Steve runs a hand over his face with a huff. 

Tony smirks and Peter dares to breathe again. 

“But I’m keeping an eye on you, Stark,” Steve says, pointing a finger at Tony. “These laws are there for a reason.”

“And we’re abiding by them,” is Tony’s smooth reply. 

Peter bites his lip since, well, that’s not completely true if you want to get technical about it… 

“Keep it that way.” 

“Yes, sir,” Tony quips then gestures towards the two cars and the Tower. “Now, can we all be on our way?”

“I’m driving Peter home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, Steve, it’s fine, I can just – you know,” Peter tries but he knows it’s futile to protest when Steve uses his ‘This Is Not A Request’ voice, which Bucky calls his ‘Captain’ voice but that always makes Steve blush in a way Peter’s trying not to think about too much. 

So he ends up riding Steve’s police cruiser back to Queens after exchanging parting smiles with Tony. They pass the first couple of minutes in silence, which makes Peter remember how late it is and realize how tired he feels… Especially after this almost-catastrophe.

As they cross the Queensboro Bridge, Steve sighs. “You can change your mind at any time, Peter. Just because you’re consenting now doesn’t mean you always have to, with him. You can –”

“I know,” Peter interrupts. “Yes means yes, and whatever –”

“Not _whatever_ , Peter, this is important –”

“I know!” Peter repeats, louder this time. He hates feeling so angry but he’s too tired to filter his words. “And Tony knows, too! You should give him more credit. He’s not the, the, the _predator_ you’re making him out to be. He’s a good man and he’s kind and generous and… yeah, sure, we’re not – I mean, um, it’s fun, and I’m, I’m okay with that.”

Steve glances at him, then back to the road. “You sure? Cause it doesn’t sound like it.”

“Well, then you better have your ears checked because I am,” Peter says, crossing his arms before the defensiveness of it all registers. 

_Way to go, Parker._

Steve waits until he pulls up in front of Peter’s building to clear his throat and turn towards him with a pinched expression. 

“You’re in love with him.”

“What? No!” Peter splutters, cause he isn’t, okay? He knows that that would be stupid and pathetic and ridiculous and he’s smarter than that. 

“I get it, Peter, alright? Stark’s attractive, he’s brilliant, he’s got the money and the power and being the focus of his attention, even for just a little while… You’re sure it’s the best feeling in the world.” 

Peter wants to object but something about Steve’s tone gives him pause. It’s like there’s some leftover pain, almost as if he’s talking from experience. 

“But you need to be careful. People like him, Peter, they… they don’t feel the same way. They can’t.”

 _He can_ , a voice in Peter’s head objects. 

He doesn’t say it, however, cause Steve only sees the persona, not the person like Peter does. 

That doesn’t mean he’s in love, though. 

It just means he has a more informed view of Tony Stark than the average person. Which is, uh, _staggering_ and all, but Peter’s in this for the physical side first and foremost. The, uh, _astounding_ physical side – yes, MJ might have given him a thesaurus for Christmas to help his adjectives – which is probably why it feels like withdrawal when Peter doesn’t see Tony for two weeks.

Two _atrocious_ weeks, that is. 

“I swear, kid, I’m not avoiding you,” Tony vows on his mailbox, which has somehow become incredibly hard to access and now requires voice recognition on Peter’s part, “but there’re some glitches – though I never said that – aaaand some bad PR I gotta counteract so Pep’s sending me on Ellen _and_ Jimmy Kimmel in L.A., then of course the mayor wants a word and whatshisname, the Tesla guy, up in the Valley… Ugh. Haven’t had workshop time in like, _fifteen_ days. Or any of your coffee, for that matter, it’s still in the penthouse…”

And then Tony describes in vivid detail how he’s going to open up and enjoy the custom blend, making Peter regret his decision to listen to the voicemail at school. 

At least he’s in the bathroom so no one is around to care about why Peter’s pants are so snug all of a sudden. 

Shit, he can’t go to their study session like this…

Once composed he’s also running late, so he bursts out of the stall – only to find Flash washing his hands two sinks down. 

With no one around to witness his antics, Flash usually ignores Peter whenever they cross paths. Today, however, he slants a glance at Peter with a curious expression. 

Peter focuses on washing his hands. He doesn’t expect Flash to talk. 

“You know, Parker,” he says, ambling towards him, “curious thing happened yesterday. I was forced to set foot in your shop – Betty wanted a January Gem, or whatever they’re called –”

“ _Jewel_ , for the alliteratio–”

“Yeah, I get it, you’re the next Oscar Wilde.” Flash stops next to Peter’s sink. “Being the great boyfriend that I am,” he continues with a grin, “I felt obliged to deliver and met your aunt at the register.”

Peter hums, too confused to imagine where this could be going. 

“And when I gave her my name, she winked at me. And said that the coffee and donut were on the house. I wonder why that is.”

Oh shit. _Of course_ May would think the ‘Eugene’ from Peter’s cover stories is Flash but oh god, _why is this happening…_

“You know, Parker, I’m flattered, really,” Flash drawls. “You’re not the first gay kid to crush on me. But I’m sorry, truly – I like women. Breasts, man,” he adds with the sort of reverence Peter might talk about Tony’s…arms. 

The pause finally gives Peter a chance to interrupt. “No, it’s fine, I wasn’t talking about you, seriously,” he protests but obviously someone with Flash’s ego thinks he’s in denial. 

Flash steps right into his personal space then and places a hand on his shoulder. 

“I get it, Parker. If I were a geek like you, I’d also fall for the charismatic, handsome smart guy with the hottest car at school. Not to mention my one-point-seven million Instagram followers. But this?” he says, motioning between them. “It’s never going to pass. I’m sorry. Flattered, and slightly worried by your aunt’s leer… but sorry.”

“Oh. Okay…” Peter feigns defeat. Flash doesn’t let go of his shoulder. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of at Midtown, Parker. Even I wouldn’t tease you for being gay. So if that’s what’s keeping you from, you know, coming out –”

“It’s not, honestly, Flash ¬–”

“Denial won’t help, Parker,” the other boy interrupts, still in a lecturing tone. “My cousin’s gay and she says it’s so liberating to admit to it.”

“I am liberated,” Peter assures him, yet Flash keeps giving him a slightly pitying look. 

At that moment, the door bangs open to reveal an annoyed MJ. She quirks a brow at their strange positions. 

“There you are, Peter. I thought you’d figured out that time is linear by now.”

“Sorry, I just…”

But Flash talks over him. “This is your chance, man.”

Peter groans and turns pleading eyes on an ever more confused MJ. “Can you please tell him that I’m out? That everyone who’s important knows?”

MJ only blinks once before snorting. “Peter is gayer than the Rainbow Cupcakes he sold for Pride Month.”

Peter finally manages to shrug off Flash’s arm with a ‘See?!’ sort of expression, then adds for good measure, “And I don’t have a crush on you.”

That makes MJ laugh out loud. “Oh my god, Flash, I know you’re full of yourself but this? Nah, Peter can do so much better. Now,” MJ stares at Peter and whistles before turning on her heels. 

“I’m not a dog!” Peter feels compelled to point out, leaving both a miffed Flash and the bathroom behind. 

“No, you’re a puppy,” MJ deadpans, pulling out her phone. “But a puppy who can explain quantum physics, so you get to stay.”

Peter huffs but follows anyway… 

… and promptly collides with MJ’s back after rounding a corner. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “What –?”

MJ is entranced by her phone screen so Peter shuffles closer to read over her shoulder. He can make out the headline but that doesn’t explain why it would make his best friend literally _growl_. 

Or curse like a character on a Netflix show. 

Peter re-reads the blog article’s title – LEAKED DOCUMENTS CONFIRM CIA USING MIND-ALTERING SUBSTANCES DEVELOPED BY STARK INDUSTRIES – but still can’t put it together.

MJ gapes at his quizzical expression. “What, seriously? No outrage?”

“Y-yes, sure! But I don’t…”

“That’s the same guy controlling the entire city’s water supply now. The same guy who holds multiple government contracts, several of them still military –”

“Only for defensive technol–”

“And,” MJ continues darkly, “whose communications empire is so close to global monopoly status that the ICC is already preparing to take action. And now it turns out he’s developed a psychedelic drug for the CI-freaking-A? That shit’s _waterborne_ , Parker!”

Peter gulps. “W-well, if you put it like that…”

Even Ned goes pale when MJ shoves her phone under his nose five minutes later. Ned skims the article, then turns wide eyes at Peter. 

“Mr. Stark wouldn’t do that, Peter, right? I mean, why would he?”

“It’s not up to him,” MJ sniffs. “The government has control of the drug now.”

“But he could stop them,” Ned argues. Then a thought occurs to him that makes him light up. “His AI probably, like, lives within their firewalls already and would know if they planned on deploying the drug so it could inform its master, who would then stop them in an epic showdown!” Ned gives Peter an expectant look. “Right?”

Peter has no idea what to say to that, so he just nods. 

“See, MJ, nothing to worry about.”

“Gee, we can all relax now,” she says, shaking her head at them and taking her phone back, “the leading authority on Tony Stark’s non-existing moral compass has spoken…”

Peter makes to defend Tony – cause he does have integrity and someday the world’s gonna see that – but stops himself at the very last second since anything he says will fall on deaf ears. 

Besides, he’s not Tony’s boyfriend. Not that Peter has found a term for what he is, but… yeah, boyfriend’s not it. It’s purely physical, after all. 

MJ follows some obscure blogs so it’s another half-day before the major news outlets have fact-checked the leaked documents and start reporting on it. Once they do, however, it’s chaos. 

All Peter can do is watch it unfold, cause Tony stays in L.A. for another few days. Then he detours to DC instead of heading right back to Manhattan to soothe the waves while Peter starts googling things like ‘Can you die from blue balls?’

May, meanwhile, thinks his foul mood is due to Eugene and of course she waits until they’re both in the middle of a Saturday morning shift at _The Hybrid Puppy_ to interrogate him. 

“No, no, it’s just, uh,” Peter stammers, wishing he’d sent Zinha down from the first floor to fetch more muffins instead of going himself. “School’s really, uh, hard at the moment…”

“You sure? I meant what I said about pouring coffee over him.”

“Eugene didn’t do anything,” Peter vows and prays that Flash won’t ever, ever make out with Betty in May’s field of vision. 

“Oh, I’m sure he didn’t,” a voice says from the counter. 

Peter whirls around to find Bucky smirking at him. Shit – there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. Steve must have talked to him. 

“Hi Bucky,” May greets him. “Your usual?”

“And an almond milk chai,” Bucky adds with a grin, pointing to Bruce Banner standing two steps behind him. 

Happy for the distraction, Peter waves at the newcomer and tilts his head at Bucky. “I thought we’re doing wedding planning?”

“Oh, we are,” Bucky assures him. “It’s one of Bruce’s many talents. He helped plan Pepper Potts’ wedding, after all.”

“I didn’t,” Bruce speaks up. “I merely assisted with the pyrotechnics.” 

“And I want fireworks,” Bucky announces. 

Dr. Banner sighs. Something tells Peter that it won’t be the last time today. 

He nods towards the first floor. “Toomes is already upstairs with the samples.”

“Why don’t you go up, Bruce, I’ll help Peter with the drinks,” Bucky says and promptly ignores Peter’s protests. He probably should be lucky the other man waits until Aunt May slips into the back before leaning in with an arched eyebrow. “Eugene, eh?”

Peter focuses on steaming the milk for Bucky’s January Jewel. 

“So I gave you blow job advice to use on Tony Stark?” 

He bites his tongue. 

“Did he like it?”

Peter almost drops the milk jug as his head snaps up, eyes wide. 

Bucky’s leer borders on filthy. “Oh, he did, didn’t he? See, told you – guru of oral pleasure.”

“So you’re, uh, you’re not…” 

“Nah. I figure Steve’s said all that’s to be said about it, and who’re we kidding, you’re not gonna listen anyway. Then you might as well make the most of it,” Bucky says with a shrug. He picks up Bruce’s chai from the counter. “I promise your future partners are gonna appreciate the practice.”

 _I don’t want any future partners,_ Peter thinks. And stops in his tracks. 

Oh, hell.

Before he has time to dwell on the thought, however, the coffee is done and Peter seizes the excuse to push it as well as any and all its possible implications far, far away, back into the most secluded corner of his mind. 

The vast selection of awesome pastries that greets him on the first floor when he arrives at the window table is a good distraction, too. 

“Ngh, Peter, you gotta try this,” Bucky assures him around a mouthful of – 

“Are those police badge shaped tartlets?” 

“Sure are,” Toomes confirms. He’s lounging in the corner, surveying the three trays filled with his creations like a king would his realm. 

Peter sets down the baker’s coffee, slack-jawed. 

“That my java, son?”

“Uh, yeah, the Fires of Hell’s Kitchen.” 

Peter’s rather proud of that blend. It comes in barely under the maximum of caffeine allowed in beverages according to the FDA. 

Bucky stops mid-reach, bent over the second tray. “Oh come on, we’re not that bad.”

“Still a wedding,” Toomes grumbles. “Wouldn’t do them at all if Liz hadn’t become so high-maintenance…” 

“Oh, but we still get the friends’ discount, don’t we?”

“You’d have to be my friend for that, Barnes.”

“Aw, shut up, you love me!” Bucky grins. There’s frosting on his upper lip which makes Bruce chuckle. “And hey, wouldn’t have thought you’d need to do ‘em that much anymore, what with selling out to Stark and all.”

“I didn’t fucking _sell out_ ,” Toomes immediately snaps, his entire body tensing up. “I’m an independent contrac-”

“Still at his beck and call, though.” Bucky leans back in his chair. “It’s almost a pity he’s gonna miss your special wedding creations…” 

With that, he slowly and pointedly turns to Dr. Banner, who has just cut off a piece of marbled rainbow cheesecake and now stops, fork raised. 

It takes Peter a second to catch on. 

Bruce is much quicker, already shaking his head. 

“Yes,” Bucky counters. 

“No.”

“But Bruuuuuce! Brucie Bear!”

“I already have a plus one.”

“You’ll get plus two, then!” Bucky offers immediately. “Please, Bruce, our wedding registry’s soooooo long and we don’t have enough loaded friends – but you do!”

Peter has never seen Dr. Banner this uncomfortable. He shifts on the chair, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. 

“Think of how much easier our lives are gonna be once Steve and I finally have the right juicer for smoothies – that’s gonna save us a lot of time in the mornings and _that’s_ gonna benefit the entire city cause we’ll get more sleep and have more energy to catch the bad guys!”

Toomes snorts. “There’s a lot of cheaper models, Barnes, that do the exact same thing.”

“They _do not_ , I’ve done a ton of research –”

“Oh, lemme guess, three minutes? Or’d you manage a full five?”

“Oi, I’m the king of research, mister,” Bucky argues, brandishing half a cookie like a sword, “I betcha even you can’t argue with the knife set.”

“No, but with that stupid Roomba. If you just got off your lazy ass and plugged in a vacuum cleaner yourself –”

But Bucky isn’t listening anymore, he’s poking Bruce’s arm with his elbow. “Hey, how come there’s no Stark Industries model of that thing yet?”

When Bruce only shrugs, Peter coughs. “Uh, I thought they’re a subsidiary? The manufacturers, I mean.”

Toomes sits back with a grunt. “Jesus fucking Christ, of course they are.” 

“Ha, then that’s part of Stark’s wedding gift right there!” Bucky concludes with an air of finality. 

He turns towards Bruce again while Peter tries his best to shake the memories of the wonderful daydream he’s been indulging – of Tony actually showing up at Steve and Bucky’s wedding, wearing one of his three-piece suits and spending most of the evening talking to Peter.

Nothing suspicious, of course, just amicable conversation about engineering and coffee and well, what if Peter knows the exact layout of the venue and has a key since his computer classes happen to take place in the same building? Surely no one would miss Tony and Peter for half an hour, not with so many guests milling about. 

Then Toomes curses. “I can’t fucking believe you, Barnes. Jeez, first calling me a sell-out and then basically begging on your knees for Stark’s –”

“Ain’t begging, just asking a favor of a friend –”

“You’re exploiting the poor doc, Barnes. You’re an awful excuse for a human being.”

“I’m not –”

“Um.”

Both men stop their japing and turn to Dr. Banner. Bucky is on the edge of his seat as far as Peter can tell, but he’s a bit distracted with holding his breath and stuff. 

“I’m sorry, but my answer is still no.”

Bucky opens his mouth to protest but Bruce’s expression brooks no argument. 

Peter’s heart sinks. 

He immediately chides himself, though, cause there truly is no substantial reason for Tony to attend the Rogers-Barnes wedding and his reaction is perfectly ridiculous. Attending a wedding together would be such a couple-y thing to do – and they’re not. 

Nor does Peter want them to be. 

He doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I've been humming "[I won't say I'm in love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FqDaoMtIujs)" from _Hercules_ for a solid week.


	13. thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm genuinely nervous about this chapter - or maybe that's just the insomnia and exhaustion from this past week talking - but I really hope you all will like this! Your enthusiasm and support has been a lifeline and I can't get over how blessed I am to have such amazing ( _awesome!_ ) readers <3
> 
> Either way, this chapter has a lot in it. ENJOY!

“I’ll email you my quote,” Toomes tells Bucky once all pastry and beverage-related questions have been decided. 

As he rises, the baker fixes Peter with a pointed look.

“Uh, yeah, I will, too. Or just, you know, uh, give it to you at the next Avengers meeting,” Peter stutters. No way he’ll ever get used to being a business man. 

“Friends’ discount, right?” Bucky smiles at them. “Since I’m gonna have to buy that Roomba myself and all.”

Peter bites his lip but nods. Toomes’s parting eye roll is neither here nor there, and a flicker of worry ghosts over Bucky's expression before the smile is back as he’s checking his phone.

“Seventy-three likes already! Forget paying for it myself – when this wedding is over I’m gonna be Instagram famous and use the revenue from that!” 

Dr. Banner’s brow creases. “I’m afraid you’re missing a number of followers for that to work in our version of reality.”

“Your version of reality sucks, dude. Wait, how come you’re so knowledgeable? Oh, right, your famous best friend. Who you’re refusing to bring along.” 

“Whom,” Bruce corrects before Peter has a chance to. 

“Yeah, yeah, but see, you askin’ him would totally help my second income!”

“Using Tony to get more likes is not a viable business model,” Peter points out but Bucky waves him off, so he starts cleaning the first floor tables and then continues on the lower level. 

Which is the only reason he catches Chandra and May mid-discussion.

Chandra is a voluptuous woman in her thirties with a wardrobe consisting of second hand clothing and a short afro that reveals the semi-colon tattoo behind her left ear. She’s also Aunt May's best friend.

And apparently trying to convince May to go out to a bar with her and the rest of the self-help gang. 

“Come on, we missed you in group on Wednesday already, M-doll! Don’t you go slacking off on us now.”

“I can’t,” May vows, and Peter suddenly feels like the worst nephew ever for failing to notice that, in addition to everything, May skipped a group meeting.

He knows why she’s adamant about staying here, too: a pile of paper work is waiting in the office. For the past weeks, May has taken care of the books again to free up Peter's schedule, though without Tony in town, it's no use going to the workshop (and he doubts JARVIS would let him in if he tried). 

In retrospect, he really should have said something sooner. He knows how important May’s nights out with friends are for her well-being, and he’s been a distracted idiot. 

So he seizes the chance to remedy that. “I can handle the paper work, Aunt May.”

May’s frown lightens. “Oh no, honey, it’s Saturday night.”

“And I haven’t got any plans,” Peter rushes to say. “MJ’s at a demonstration and Ned’s gonna crack level five with the H-Net crew cause he thought I’d be, you know, at the workshop and, uh, my other friends are busy, too” Peter adds, feeling slightly guilty about dragging ‘Eugene’ into this. “I don’t mind. You need to switch off, too. You’ve been working a lot.” 

“So have you.” Yet despite her words, May looks torn.

“You’re a good boy, Peter,” Chandra jumps in with a grin. “Now you _have_ to come. You need to look after your mental health, M-doll. You should know that by now.” 

The memories of what happened when she didn’t are hard to keep at bay. As Peter and May’s eyes meet he can see that she has the same problem. 

“If you’re sure, Peter?” 

He nods. “Totally got this under control.”

And he does, seriously... It all just takes him a teeny bit longer cause he keeps drifting into daydream land since balancing the books is not even marginally as riveting as imagining the night of his birthday that’s rapidly approaching. Twenty-one days, to be exact – but who’s counting. 

By now, the mere thought of Tony’s fingers _finally_ inside of him, stretching him, being much too mindful not to hurt him sends shivers down Peter’s spine. He hopes they’ll do it face-to-face so Peter will be able to watch Tony’s reactions to entering him, moving inside him until –

“You’re drooling on the P&L forecast.”

Peter’s eyes fly open. He has a hand in his lap – when did that happen? – but there’s no drool involved (yet), thank you very... 

Hang on.

“T-Tony?” Peter stammers, cause the man in question standing in the open door, hands in the pockets of his tailored pants, is not part of his current fantasy.

“In the flesh! Somewhat worse for wear, but being awake for forty-eight hours will do that to you. But hey, I hit every appointment Pepper and PR sent me to on time and I scienced up a solution for that genetics problem Bruce’s been bugging me about.” 

Tony spreads his palms, ‘so there’, and Peter forgets all about his boner for a moment over the shadows under Tony’s eyes. He’s out of his chair a heartbeat later.

“You look dead on your feet, you should be in bed!”

“I agree,” Ton purrs, shoving off the door frame. “Hence my B&E. Okay, technically I guess JARVIS unlocking the staff entrance doesn’t quite amount to petty crime, but... What was my point? Ah, I believe _this_ was my point.”

Then there’s a hand – Tony’s awesome hand that Peter hasn’t felt in freaking _ages_ – cupping him through his jeans and damn, three weeks without means Peter folds like a house of cards. 

He crashes into Tony, lips demanding greedy kisses and fingers traveling the contours of Tony’s body. The man feels slightly different to his touch – slimmer, the muscle different; honed in gyms across the globe instead of the steel bars of his workshop. 

Tony’s just as impatient, only in his case that means he spins them around and crowds Peter against the wall in one glorious, swift movement. Every sensation seems to be multiplied tenfold after their torturous hiatus and Peter wonders if Tony feels the same way.

“Ngh, Christ, I missed your mouth, kid,” Tony gasps while the hand not working open his zipper slides to Peter’s hair and tugs. 

He’ll take that as a yes. 

They’re both clawing and clutching with little finesse, but at some point Peter chucks his shoes, socks, pants and underwear and Tony uses the moment to do the same. Peter’s quicker, though, his work long-sleeve hitting the pile before Tony’s boxer briefs and suddenly Peter has the most awesome idea of his entire life. 

He grabs Tony’s wrist before he can remove his waistcoat and pulls, but rather than back against the wall, Peter maneuvers them towards the front of the desk. The momentum has Tony’s chest bump into Peter’s back, the now-familiar materials of Tony’s bespoke outfit scraping over his own exposed skin. 

“What’re you doing, kid?” 

Tony’s tone is thick with arousal but indulgent, so Peter throws a grin over his shoulder, shifts onto his toes, and leans forward until his hands are resting on the edge of the desk. He’s also spreading his bare legs a bit. The logistics work out almost as smoothly as he figured – he feels a hard cock against his bare ass, and the thrill of it punches a moan from him. 

Tony has frozen behind him. “I told you –”

“Yeah, and I’m not, uh, just let me, just wait…” 

Peter’s reaching between their bodies and his fingers find Tony’s erection on the second try. He pushes himself a bit higher on his toes, grips the desk tighter for support, and on an exhale fits Tony’s cock between his thighs, just underneath his balls. 

“Fuck,” Tony gasps, “that’s, ngh, fuck, you’re brilliant, kid.”

Peter beams, even if Tony can’t see. 

“You got lube here somewhere? Or this is gonna chafe like a son of a bitch.”

“Oh.” Peter blinks, half-turning. “Uh, sorry, yeah, um, sure…”

“Too late. Good thinking, making me keep the jacket on.”

“Do you, uh, always have lube in our breast pocket?” Peter can’t help asking. He makes a mental note to stock up on single-packaged lube as soon as possible. 

“Seemed wise, since I’d have bet we wouldn’t make it back to the penthouse tonight.”

Peter’s chuckle bleeds into a whimper cause Tony was incredibly quick at applying the lubricant and now there’s a cock between his thighs again and one of Tony’s arms snaking around his waist. The buttons of the waistcoat are a firm pressure right along his spine and fuck, now Tony’s moving his hips, just a bit, just to try it, find a rhythm, but he’s already brushing Peter’s testicles with every movement, holy shit…

They end up bent at a right angle pretty soon, Tony draped over his back, left arm propped up on the desk next to Peter’s and precariously close to their new computer, but any worry is just a whisper in the peripheries of Peter’s mind. They have a rhythm now, Tony pulling back and pushing in, the tip of his cock smearing precome along the base of Peter’s own. 

It takes a ridiculously long time for him to realize that he can modulate the pressure, too, but once he squeezes his thighs together every time Tony bottoms out he’s rewarded with another moan, and eventually with the edge of Tony’s teeth skating along his neck. 

“You can, uh, you should,” Peter tries, tilting his head and baring his neck in blatant invitation. 

The response is slightly more pressure, nothing more, and Peter whines cause he _wants_ this, he wants Tony to leave a mark, anything to remember this by if even for a day or two. 

He clamps down on Tony’s cock and the other man shudders against his back. 

“Oh no, kid, not falling for that.” 

Tony’s revenge is wrapping his fingers around Peter’s erection and going for his nipples with the other hand. The pace of his hips increases, too – he’s pushing all of Peter’s buttons and he’s defenseless against it, can only ride the waves of pleasure and gasp and moan. 

Then Tony stills. He’s pushed his hips as far as he can go, which is not far enough, and Peter’s nipples are pebbled and growing sensitive. His chest is heaving with every labored breath, and Tony’s clothes are starting to chafe. 

“Please, fuck, just… Tony,” he begs. 

Two strong arms wrap around Peter’s body and press him tightly back. Peter’s too far gone to piece together what’s going on until their positions have changed and Tony’s perched on the edge of desk, feet propped up on one of the visitor chairs he’s pulled towards them. Peter is still in his lap, grabbing Tony’s thighs for stability and – 

“Oh my god,” Peter breathes, because the new position allows Tony’s erection to reach further. 

Already Tony’s hand closes around both of them, jerking them hard and fast. Their combined precome is barely enough to ease the friction and maybe that’s what makes it even more erotic.

“You’re close already, huh? I can feel your balls on my cock, kid, I know you are, but you’re not gonna come until I’m right there on the edge with you, alright?”

Tony’s voice is a wreck and all Peter can do is nod and push down his approaching orgasm. He’s been practicing, these past weeks, replaying Tony’s previous commands over and over in his head late at night. But there’s no pillow to bite into and stifle his desperate sounds, or sheets to dig his fingers into. 

“Ngh, that’s it,” Tony praises him after a startled hiss when Peter’s fingernails break the skin of his thighs. 

Peter shifts his focus – cause if he doesn’t, there’s no way he’ll last another second – and experiments with rotating his hips. The cleft between his cheeks stretches apart minimally but it’s enough to remind Tony of what’s still waiting for them. 

Tony’s dark moan against his neck makes Peter smirk. He takes it as a challenge to figure out exactly how he can bring Tony’s hand to lose its rhythm. Before long, Peter feels Tony’s jerky nod against his back and knows the other man is close. 

Almost at the same moment, they spill themselves over Tony’s fingers. As they shudder through the aftershocks, Tony rests his forehead against Peter’s back, his heavy breath ghosting along Peter’s spine. 

It’s never taken them so long to become coherent again. 

“That was awesome, right? I mean, I wasn’t sure it’d work cause you’re a bit taller, but it totally did!” Peter babbles. “We gotta do this again soon – unless, uh, unless you didn’t like it?”

Tony has the most peculiar expression on his face and Peter can’t quite place it. It’s soft, so that’s good, and definitely fond in a way he’s never seen before. His breath hitches as Tony pulls him back against his half-clothed body with a chuckle. 

“No, that definitely warranted an ‘awesome’. Good thinking.”

The praise warms Peter’s chest – which is a perfectly normal physical reaction, okay – and he’s grinning into their kiss. 

Too bad they have come drying out on both their legs and the office floor, so it can’t go on forever.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Peter asks as they’re slipping back into their clothes.

“Not you, I’m afraid.” Tony looks genuinely rueful at the thought despite his smirk. “Nope, I have the unmitigated pleasure of walking down Park Avenue and doing a live interview. Ugh...” 

His tone carries even more vitriol than Peter has come to expect, which makes him tilt his head at Tony. “What’s recording so late… oh! You mean –”

“"Yes,” Tony confirms with an air of a convict facing the gallows. 

Peter swallows. Tony’s going to be on _Last Week Tonight_.

“Fuck.”

“Dito. That koala-faced devil’s probably been salivating over taking me on since Pepper gave her okay. Meaning ‘order’, for me.”

“It hasn’t been announced yet, has it?”

Tony scoffs. “Nah. They’ll wait till everyone’s enjoying breakfast tomorrow morning. Though I think Pep mentioned something about a Times Square ad...” 

“Woah.”

“So, kid,” Tony says after a beat. “You gonna watch?” 

“The ad?” Peter teases, and earns himself a shove that makes him lose his balance. He would have stumbled into a shelf, too, if Tony’s reflexes weren’t still pretty decent, even in his overworked state. 

“You should get some rest,” Peter tells him, placing his hands on Tony's shoulders for emphasis. 

The other man shrugs it off. “Let the makeup department earn their keep.” 

“No, I mean...” Peter flounders. “From what MJ says, the guy’s really good.” 

Tony leans back slowly, resting his hands on the desk and fixing Peter with a strange look. 

“You realize I was raised for this, right? I outwitted my first journalist when I was nine. That bit with Diane Sawyer, where I made her cry on air? I was coming off a bender, hadn’t slept in three days.” Tony pauses for a moment, apparently lost in memories. “Anyway. Relax. Even if there weren't a script – which there is, mind you – I could handle that English prick while fighting off a hoard of MIT hopefuls and gold diggers with one hand and drinking one of your coffees with the other. I got this.”

Peter has no idea what to say to that so he doesn’t reply, at least not verbally.

If Tony is in no hurry to leave, then Peter won't make him.

*

It still feels frivolous, having Sundays to himself. 

Going on three months now, Peter has had about half of them off from the _Hybrid Puppy_ , which is really awesome cause finding time for homework, chores, his friends, the Avengers and seeing Tony is a lot easier when you don’t have to make Skinny Vanilla Lattes for workaholics and tourists for several hours each day. 

Still, Peter doesn’t quite trust the reprieve – as much as he enjoys it.

Nothing has changed about his curfew, however.

“But May –”

“Tomorrow’s a school day, Peter!” 

“I know that –” 

“You need your rest.”

“And I'll get it, I swear.” 

“Can’t you just watch the rerun tomorrow morning? Or, wait, aren’t they always putting that up on YouTube?”

“It’s a _live_ interview, May, it’s not the same. They’ve never done it live before and everybody's gonna be talking about it immediately afterwards. It’s a special occasion, and, and, and it’s _Tony Stark_ ,” Peter implores, with so much gesturing that the spatula almost flies from his grip. “Please, I’ll be back right after. MJ’s isn’t that far, and it’s not like I’d go to bed any earlier when I’m here.”

He gives her his best puppy dog expression – he hates it when MJ calls him it that, but if it mellows his aunt into letting him watch the interview, who is he to ignore his talents? – and waits. 

They’re having a very late brunch at home, which Peter cooked like he used to before they took over the coffee shop. 

On second thought, he shouldn’t have bought the good mangoes since it tipped May off that he wants something, which is why they’re having this discussion with him still busy scrambling eggs rather than at the table after a leisurely meal. 

Because May is awesome, however, she eventually gives her okay. Ten hours later, Peter and Ned are gathered in MJ’s room munching on her homemade kale chips and waiting for the show to start. 

MJ’s home is on a peaceful block in Sunnyside with the living stereotype of absent lawyer parents. 

“At least they’re not divorce lawyers,” MJ says with a grimace. “Not that patent law is any more morally upstanding, but that at least keeps them out-of-state and gives me the freedom to grow as an individual rather than another high-achieving doll socialized in heteronormative society.”

Ned’s brow furrows. “You’re best in our class.”

“Eat another kale chip and shut it – the show’s starting.” 

Peter has a theory that MJ would actually like to have a bit less freedom where her parents are concerned, but he knows better than to voice it. Instead, he shifts to the floor at the foot of MJ’s bed so she and Ned can lie on their stomachs as the _Last Week Tonight_ opening credits roll. 

John Oliver spends all of three minutes on summarizing everything else that happened during the week before the graphic on screen left is replaced by the [SI logo against a blue, water-color background](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/image/165714683942).

“And now to our main story tonight: Stark Industries. You know, that multinational corporation straight from every communist’s worst dreams. They’ve recently come under attack when we ourselves exposed them as the main shareholder of Uber ” – the audience applauds – “whose move towards driverless cars has since made 3,280 jobs redundant. SI is making headlines again, but this time for much more troubling reasons.” 

A news clip montage follows, showing how the different networks reported on the leaked document that seems to confirm Tony developed a waterborne psychedelic drug for the CIA. Obviously HBO included experts who explain the havoc a drug like this could wreak should it get into the water supply. 

The montage ends with one of the morning show hosts on screen exclaiming, “It all sounds so absurd! That’s like something right out of a movie!”

John Oliver nods along to strained laughter. “Yeah, it’s like we’re in one of those _Kingsman_ films,” he says as a manip of a possible movie poster appears next to him, with Tony looming over the other characters. “Only that this version of the super crazy megalomaniac trying to save the world by destroying it… is real.” 

MJ snorts. Peter thinks the comparison is a bit flawed but bites his tongue. 

Oliver talks them through the reactions from various newscasters, blogs, the few politicians who thought they could capitalize on the scandal, as well as the official SI line of “No comment” while keeping the leaked document that started all this superimposed on screen. 

“Now,” John Oliver continues, “the best person to ask about all of this would of course be Tony Stark, the only war lord who has ever been crowned People’s magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive and developed a strange taste for locally grown coffee." 

Then there’s a quick sequence of picture showing Tony at the _Hybrid Puppy_ right there on the TV screen. Peter chokes on a sip of his soda while Ned whoops. 

“Oh my god, dude, there, that’s your elbow! You’re gonna be famous!” he shouts which sends MJ into a laughing fit and makes Peter blush. 

Meanwhile, John Oliver’s shoulders have slumped and he’s feigning a frown. “Unfortunately, the self-proclaimed ‘philanthropist’ –” 

_Oh, Tony won’t like the sardonic tone here one bit…_

“– and former merchant of death,” 

_Ouch._

“– is harder to schedule an interview with than Stephen Hawking. Or the Dalai Lama. Or Ed Snowden.” 

The anticipation that has been bubbling underneath the surface of the audience finally erupts into various exclamations of enthusiasm. John Oliver grins. 

“Did we? Of course we did!” the host cheers to much clapping. “Please welcome the only American according to _Vogue_ who knows how to wear a waistcoat, Anthony Howard Stark!”

Gone are the shadows under his eyes and there’s no hair out of place, his beard trimmed to perfection. Tony shakes John Oliver’s hand with a dangerous smile. 

Peter gulps. Script or not, he feels like he’s watching two matches dance around a powder keg. 

“Alright, let’s dive right in,” John Oliver says, motioning towards the table and chair off the main desk. 

“Water pun, nice. How original,” Tony drawls with a buoyant grin as he unbuttons his jacket and sits down. 

MJ grumbles something Peter doesn’t catch, but it can’t have been nice. He has a hard time keeping from drooling since Tony cuts an appealing figure in his charcoal waistcoat and red tie, lounging in the studio chair as though he were the host. 

“Congratulations on that _Vogue_ title, by the way. I’m British and even I can’t pull that off.”

“Oh, it’s really quite easy.” A beat. “If you have the build for it.”

Peter sniggers, as does the audience. Tony throws them a smirk.

“Okay, I started with a bad pun, I guess I had that coming.” 

Tony cocks an agreeable eyebrow but remains silent.

“So,” John Oliver continues smoothly, “Mr. Stark –” 

“Please, it’s Tony,” he offers with a magnanimous sweep of his hand.

John Oliver seems thrown, yet only for a moment. Peter frowns – Tony’s PR department probably told him to do that. 

“So, Tony. Mind control. Scary stuff.”

“And frankly, rather implausible.”

“Is that your official comment?” 

“It’s a scientific fact,” Tony says. “There’s quite the body of research to back it up. I can forward you some studies if your staff was too busy thinking up water-related puns this past week.” 

Peter and Ned laugh out lout as MJ scowls. The men on screen volley back and forth for a bit longer – John Oliver obviously takes great pleasure in forcing Tony to dumb down the science babble for a broader audience, and watching Tony suffer through a series of ridiculous comparisons. 

Peter winces in sympathy at times, yet has to admit that boiling down the question of ‘Could SI mind-control us via our tap water?’ to penis metaphors is quite helpful. Even if it makes him think of last night in the office, which is a really bad idea with his friends right there. 

Eventually John Oliver segues to the issue of SI’s branches and subsidiaries. Peter allows himself to relax a bit – but regrets it immediately cause there’s a huge diagram on screen showing exactly how many brands and corporations are linked to SI. 

“Seriously,” John Oliver comments, “your plan is for world domination, isn’t it? That’s the endgame, right? Because your have your fingers in _every_ pie and – oh, is that what's next? The food industry?” 

Very pointedly, Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh yes, cause I have nothing better to do with my time than develop forty-two different kinds of cereal.” He pauses for a split second, then adds, “That was sarcasm, for the record, in case anyone missed it.” 

John Oliver nods. “Indeed, we wouldn’t want you to be quoted out of context. Like when you said one day everything will run on your tech at TechCon, some interpreted that as an admission to market rigging.”

There is nothing fake about Tony’s look of disgust. “My team and I would _never ever_ stoop so low.”

“Then how do you explain the two hundred percent growth of Stark Security Solutions in the private security market in the last year alone?”

“By the fact that we’re the best,” Tony answers with conviction. 

It’s incredibly hot. 

But John Oliver now has a calculating glint in his eye. MJ sits up a bit and Peter feels his shoulders tense. 

“Which is why you got the City Water gig.” 

Tony nods. 

“And now you’re refusing to tell people how your system works. Every time someone asks for clarifications, your company hides behind ‘trade secrets’.” 

“That’s because they are.” 

“Like the cyber security protocols you’re licensing to the government and foreign multinationals at exorbitant fees?” 

“Exactly.” 

A bit more than that, Peter realizes. Both are run by AI, at least unofficially, as far as he knows – City Water by KAREN and all cyber security by some dumbed down version of JARVIS. Trade secrets is one thing – trusting this info in the hands of the public in the wake of Ultron another entirely.

“What about transparency?” 

“Transparency in this case would be detrimental to security,” Tony points out, “to keeping our country and all its citizens safe.” 

“Some argue it’s _you_ this country needs protection from.” 

“Oh snap!” MJ cheers as John Oliver shows bits from street interviews they conducted this afternoon in Times Square that confirm exactly that. Peter’s about to point out how unfair this is but the host himself gets there before him. 

“To be fair, we met some fans, too.”

“I’d be surprised if you hadn’t,” Tony sneers, then turns again to the studio screen. 

The compilation ends with a cop from Tennessee on holiday in Manhattan. “Well, I can’t buy most his products cause they’re so expensive, but I don’t care what anyone else says. Tony Stark’s a hero for me. You know, he donated to our dispatch centers and enabled us to actually do our jobs and save lives, something the State never managed.”

Several members of the studio audience applaud at that. Tony throws them a grin and a wink, but Peter can see the lines around his eyes have softened. He’s genuinely touched, even if not many people will be able to see that. 

Peter huffs. Why can’t he just be honest? 

“As it turns out –” John Oliver begins, but Tony interrupts him. 

“Hang on, I know what you’re going to say. That Stark Industries has been donating to a lot of dispatch centers and it’s all in our own, selfish interest cause the federal government is thinking of privatizing them.”

If Oliver is fazed, he doesn’t show it. “Yes, very much so. You have to admit, it has an awfully similar feel to your restorations of New York’s subway trains before the city announced they’ve given the contract to you.”

“To use a simple comparison,” Tony sneers, “think of it as a basic job interview.”

“Okay… but you’re talking about emergency responders. Shouldn’t that fall under the jurisdiction of the States?” 

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh yeah, cause they’ve done such a stellar job at it.”

“But, in addition to your existing contracts with the Ministry of Defense, isn’t that getting a little, you know, much?”

Tony sits back with a serious expression. “Security has to be more organized than crime.” 

“And you know a lot about organized crime, don’t you, Mr. Stark?”

“I’ve seen the worst in people,” Tony admits. His tone has turned sincere, but at the same time there’s a dark edge to it. Peter wishes he could reach out but he’s too far away. “And I’ve developed ways to counteract that. The question people really gotta ask themselves is: do you want your broke government to protect you from the worst in others, or can you get over yourselves and accept outside help?”

Silence falls for a moment. Peter holds his breath since John Oliver seems to be weighing his words a lot more carefully than he should be – they have a script, after all. 

The host exhales at length, then asks, “You’re saying the world would be a better place with you in charge?”

Tony’s eyes narrow. “No; you’re twisting my words, John.” 

They’re going off script, Peter realizes. MJ has shuffled forward, her phone forgotten in her lap, still open on her Twitter feed. 

“So what are you saying? Please, explain it to me.”

“Do I have to use penis metaphors or can I talk sense?” Tony bites back, which gets an ‘Up to you’ shrug from the other man. 

“Good. Take the problems with 911 – something _your_ show highlighted, by the way. They can’t pinpoint people’s location since they’re not operating on an IP-based system yet. They lack funds to upgrade cause States, including New York City, divert the 911-fees into their general pot, but still everyone’s surprised when the city hands over their public transport to me?” 

He snorts derisively. “Those naïve protestors think they’ve got the moral high ground, but who’s gonna save the city thirty million gallons of water leakage? Who’s funding all that medical research that Big Pharma won’t cause there’s no money in actually curing cancer? Jeez, you’re not making a deal with the devil here.”

“Well,” John Oliver finally raises a hand, “but Ultron –”

“Ultron was a flawed experiment that got way out of control –”

“I didn’t realize ‘experiment’ is a synonym for ‘murderous AI trying to build itself a body’ in your vocabulary, Tony.” 

“And I didn’t realize your award-winning show has taken up fear-mongering.”

“So you don’t agree with the proposed restrictions the Senate wants to put on the development of artificial intelligence?”

“Fuck no. But if they want to leave billions of people without water, they can go right ahead.”

Silence. 

Peter’s elbow slips from where it was propped up on his knee. Oh gawd, did Tony really just… 

“So an AI – an _artificial intelligence_ – is running the city’s water system? That’s your ‘trade secret’?” John Oliver manages, surprisingly composed given the context. 

Tony’s mask doesn’t slip. He’s shut down in the blink of an eye. Even Peter can’t tell what he’s really feeling, but he’d bet he’d do just about anything for a time machine. 

Ignoring Mrs. Potts’s eye-roll ban will be the least of his problems now. 

“I think we’re already running over time, John.”

“So it would seem.”

Peter has never seen John Oliver gloat. The sight makes him queasy. 

Tony rises, buttons his jacket, and exits the stage to an emerging chorus of boos and outraged cries from the audience. 

And all Peter can do is sit there and watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hits post* ... *bites nails*


	14. fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE! Sorry for the longer-than-usual wait, but I have the best possible excuse: my second short film, which is based on my Bondlock fic and counts a lot of fandom members among its team, got its world premiere at the cinema in my hometown! We also visited my old school to show the film during English lessons and got a lot of grins and enthusiastic nodding in response to "You guys familiar with fanfic?"... I'm still drowning in happy fandom feels <3  
> [*sneakily includes the link to the film's fb page since subtle is my middle name*](https://www.facebook.com/thehackershort2017/)
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for the delay =) Shutting up now, though - ENJOY!!!! 
> 
> ... gawd, it's great to be back!!!!

Peter gestures towards the door. “I’m gonna...” 

But his friends aren’t listening. MJ is busy with the blogsphere and Twitter, cackling at regular intervals. Ned, by the looks of it, is messaging everyone he knows about Peter’s elbow. 

Once in the hallway, Peter pulls out his ear buds and is dialing Tony’s number before he’s even locked the bathroom door behind him. The other man should be in his car by now, based on his swift exit.

Tony picks up immediately – in video call mode. That is... new. Peter wishes it were happening under happier circumstances.

“Hey, _finally_ a call I actually want to accept!” Only Tony’s head and neck are visible and he looks... crestfallen. “Great, now JARVIS doesn’t need to pretend I’m busy. You saw it?” 

Peter makes to reply –

“Course you saw. Every fucking person on this planet will have seen this shitshow by sunrise. _Christ_ , that fucking prick! He planned this, I’m telling you, first the shitty puns, then the penis metaphors – for fuck’s sake, you can't explain hydraulics with human anatomy analogies! People are stupid enough as it is! And going off script, that slimy rat-faced git. Quality journalism, right there, but I'm the villain now cause I developed AI and refuse to trust it to a world that's only gonna want to use it to build killer robots for their battlefields. Is that so fucking hard to understand?”

Silence follows Tony’s outbreak. Peter is at a loss – he’s got nothing. ‘I’m sorry’ sounds ridiculous, and he can’t think of any way to comfort Tony.

“Sorry, kid, you don’t want to hear all this.”

“No, it's fine!” Peter rushes to say. “You gotta vent to someone, so... uh, might as well be me.” 

Their eyes meet via the phone screen. Tony is the first to look away.

“And, um, I guess Mrs. Potts isn’t going to be happy?” 

Tony swallows. “No.” 

“And... and JARVIS?”

“Aw, hear that, buddy?” 

“We have arrived at the Tower, sir,” is all the AI says. 

“Ugh, do I have to?” 

A _click_. JARVIS actually went so far as to open the door, damn. 

“Alright, I’m going in. Hold on, Peter.” 

He does, using the moment to make sure MJ is still active on Twitter and Instagram and gather the courage to actually voice the offer that’s been on the tip of his tongue once Tony lifts his phone again –

“What the hell, Tony!”

 _Shit_ , that's the voice of Pepper Potts. 

Tony’s arm has snapped to his hip and all Peter sees is the wall. It takes a second to realize it’s a polished wall, meaning he sees Pepper Potts’s thunderous expression through the slightly distorted reflection.

“You _do not_ get to be unreachable after a fuck-up like this! I’m serious, Tony, do you _want_ Federal Agents knocking on our door? Do you want to open everything up to Agent Coulson? Forget KAREN – if there’s one person in this world who could find JARVIS, then it’s _him_ – and then where will you be at? Statutory rape charges won’t matter anymore; they could charge you under the PATRIOT act, Tony, _with terrorism_.” 

“Pepper.”

She’s breathing hard but is rapidly cooling down, from what Peter can tell. If she saw the show, then she’s bound to recognize Tony was bated into this, right? It’s not his fault, or at least, not completely. 

“You should know better than this.” Her tone’s still strict, but softer now. “You’ve been doing it long enough.”

Tony mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘fucking boffin’ and Mrs. Potts’s posture mellows. 

“Well. We can’t change it now – only do damage control. Remy and Yasmine already have a plan. You get to go on a total media blackout. Not one liked Tweet, not one post-interview Instagram post.” Mrs. Potts pauses briefly to glare. “They’re _this_ close to quitting, by the way, and I’m inclined to let them.” 

Even Peter knows that the heads of your PR department leaving in the wake of such a, uh, such a blunder would only be adding fuel to the fire. 

“I don’t care if you’re going to sleep or if you’re going to pull an all-nighter in your workshop,” Mrs. Potts states. “Total blackout. We’ve scheduled a press conference for 7am.”

“Seven a–” Tony makes to object, but Pepper talks over him, anger flaring again. 

“Yes, 7am, since protesters are gathering outside as we speak and it’s only a matter of time before the first journalists turn up. They’ll be here anyway and we need to control the narrative on that, which you would realize if you’d actually _think_ about it for all of one second,” Pepper snaps, then takes a deep breath before continuing. “We’re working on a statement which you are going to read verbatim. You will not deviate from it. You will not edit. You will be the most humble CEO to have ever graced the planet. Are we understood?”

“Yes, Pepper.” 

“Good. Makeup will see you at 6.30. You’re gonna need it.”

With that parting salvo, Pepper Potts stalks off. It takes a while before Tony moves again. Peter doesn’t dare make a sound. 

The phone jerks as Tony’s hand twitches, almost as if Tony just remembered Peter’s still on the line. 

Tony doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Guess you heard all that?”

“Uh, yeah... I’m sorry.” 

Though Peter couldn’t say what he’s apologizing for – accidentally eavesdropping or not being able to help. 

Tony shakes his head, shoulders slumping. “Nah, she’s right.” 

Seeing the other man like this is like a physical ache and it leaves Peter grasping for something to, to… Well, he won’t be able to cheer Tony up. Distract him, somehow?

“But, uh, why would the FBI turn up on your doorstep?” is what slips out cause it’s late and Peter’s non-existent brain-to-mouth filter is the bane of his existence. 

Tony takes it in stride and shrugs. “They did after Ultron. Almost found JARVIS. Under current law, they’d definitely categorize him as a threat, especially since I’ve been lying about him straight to their faces. Federal agents hate that. Judges, too.” 

With a curse, Tony lets his head fall back against the wall and massages his eyes for a moment before stating the obvious. “Yeah, sleep's not gonna happen tonight.”

“I could keep you company?” Peter blurts and immediately clarifies, “I mean, um, I have to go back out there or Ned’s gonna have nightmares again about a sink eating me, but uh, after I get home I could call you again? If you want, that is, I don’t wanna, um, get on your nerves? If you’d rather be alone, just...” Peter feels his face flush. 

_Dear ground, just swallow me..._

Yet Tony is smiling at him and chuckling, which makes the embarrassment of rambling on and on definitely worth it. 

“You sure?” the other man asks, sincere. “Tomorrow’s a school day.”

“Like I’d get any sleep tonight,” Peter say with a grin. “I’d just be online until 5am and then stay up and livestream the press conference on CNN...”

“Or watch it in person.”

Peter startles. “W-what?”

Now it seems like Tony is embarrassed, but Peter chalks that up to his own wishful thinking. Still, the man looks positively… _bashful_ , if he had to find a word for it. Like asking Peter to be there is something that simply slipped out. 

“Yeah, sneak in through the back, I’ll have Brandon or Yin or whoever is on duty tomorrow give you a badge. Just be sure to dodge Pepper. I told her I’d be keeping my hands off you, after all.” 

Peter’s afraid he’s gonna get whiplash from this – first Tony asks him to be there for him, then he stresses that he’s the dirty little secret. All Peter manages to do is nod. 

A knock on the door cuts through the strange air between them.

“Dude, we gotta go!” 

“Be right out!” Peter shouts, then turns back to Tony and whispers. “I’ll be there. And I’ll call you as soon as I –”

“Yeah, yeah, curfews to keep, got it. Laterz.”

The call ends and Peter’s left staring at his lock screen.

*

Despite the abrupt end of their conversation, Tony picks up on the third ring forty-five minutes later. He didn’t bother changing out of his ensemble from the interview for ambling around in the workshop, which is more than a little distracting. 

“Well, that’s out,” Tony comments on his way past the Audi. “Too much concentration required. I really need to find more smaller projects… Like engineering snacks for in-between.”

“How about recalibrating the hologram cube, uh, thingy?” Peter offers. He’s walking – silently, of course, so he doesn’t wake May – up and down his room with the video call open on his ancient laptop. 

Another reason to look forward to his birthday: his friends and family are pooling their gifts into one big thing and all Peter wished for was a computer. 

“Why the hell don’t you just mention it to Stark?” Bucky had asked and Peter was left floundering. The thought had never – well, okay, it has occurred to him, but always left him with an icky feeling under his skin. 

“Don’t have enough time for that,” Tony says, pulling him back to the present. “And it’s ProCube H, kid, for Holographic Projection Cube, and yes I’m aware the spelling’s out of order but it tested better in focus groups. What’re they teaching you at that school?”

“Independent thought?” 

“Ha,” Tony laughs. “Or they just got lucky in your case.” 

Peter ducks his head. _Well, it’s now or never..._

“I, uh, I might have something?”

Tony stops to arch an eyebrow at him. “Okay… As long as it’s not about giving my arc reactor tech away for free to Brownsville or something.” 

“No, no, uh, none of that,” Peter promises. 

_Note to self: don’t ever mention the calculations you scribbled in your history folder._

“Remember that sticky glue thing?” he says instead. “We talked about adhesives in physics and, well...”

“Your overactive brain ran away with it,” Tony finishes. “Hm, sure, let’s hear it.”

It’s then that Peter remembers with a vengeance that he’s talking to _Tony Stark_ , certified genius and brilliant scientific mind, and Peter genuinely thinking he has anything to offer is a ridiculous notion and he should just shut up and talk about literally anything else.

Yet if the past months have taught him anything, it’s that sometimes ridiculous ideas actually pay off. 

So he fishes out the notes from his backpack and squares his shoulders. 

*

Four awesome hours later, Tony has to leave for a shower and Peter has to figure out how to explain his absence to his aunt on a note cause he’s gotta leave soon, too. 

Peter hates lying to May and citing forgotten homework would mean he’ll never get to watch _Last Week Tonight_ at MJ’s ever again, so he scribbles something about meeting with Eugene (and curses this week’s shift schedule, or else May’d already be gone) before sneaking out. 

Peter makes it to the lobby without problems. A guard named Yin at the security desk behind the back entrance (usually unmanned by the time Peter leaves at night) hands him an all-access visitor pass he clips to his jacket. There are three more checkpoints before he's allowed near the rows of chairs set up in front of a podium and a huge SI banner, with the breathtaking interior design serving as background.

Everyone around him is positively vibrating with glee, from the prim and proper reporters of major news outlets to the small-time bloggers that would fit in better at Peter’s school.

Seriously, though, he could swear he’s seen those three with the baggy hoodies somewhere before today… 

… but a _bing_ from his phone distracts him. He grins when he sees it’s a text from Tony.

 _From: TS_  
_Makeup’s released me. Get in ok?_

[06:52 AM]  
_Yes, thank you for the pass! I'm stage right, standing all the way to the back._

[06:52 AM]  
_Your right or mine?_

[06:53 AM]  
_Mine. Sorry!_

[06:53 AM]  
_Should have gotten more sleep._

[06:54 AM]  
_No, worth it :)_

And nothing. Peter looks up – indeed, people across the rows seem to be getting into position. His grin fades as he catches the malicious glints in people’s eyes. This won’t be an easy crowd to play, even for someone like Tony.

When he emerges, it’s with Mrs. Potts at 7am on the dot. Tony looks like a different person – composed and cool instead of frustrated and exhausted. For the first time since he’s come to know him, Peter understands what Tony means when he says he’s putting on his mask. 

It’s weird. Especially since Peter spent fifteen and a half years of his life believing the mask was the real deal, when the man underneath is so much more.

Pepper welcomes everyone and announces that they’ll be taking questions afterwards, which sends the gathered reporters into a frenzy that only dies down when Tony himself steps up to the podium. 

He meets everyone’s eye without hesitation, a humble edge to it, until – Peter holds his breath – they land on him.

Peter figured outright beaming might be a bit too obvious yet it’s freaking difficult to restrain himself cause Tony's shoulders relax as their gazes cross. 

Pepper is observing the first rows surreptitiously. She’s like a mama cat, ready to pounce at any moment. Right then, all Peter feels towards her is gratitude for being there for Tony, never mind that she’d probably eviscerate him if she ever found out that they’re, uh… still seeing each other.

“I’d apologize for waking you up so early,” Tony starts, “but who’re we kidding, you were up anyway.”

There are some snorts, but other than that the crowd is silent, which doesn’t change as Tony goes on, sincere and unassuming, to assure them he understands the anger and vitriol he's garnering. 

That all ends when he confirms the city’s water grid is being run by an artificial intelligence.

“Guys, this is why there’s a Q&A element to all of this. Save your alarmism for later.”

“Alarmism?!” one of the hoodie bloggers shouts. “The smartest man on earth called AI the biggest threat to humanity!”

“And possibly its best invention,” Tony parries immediately. “And thank you for forestalling my excellent transition, Mr. ...?”

“Swartz. From singularity-watch-dot-org.” 

_Now_ Peter remembers why they’re so familiar: the site is one of MJ’s favorite sources. ‘Young, loud, and concerned,’ she called them and Peter’s inclined to agree, but they produce solid articles and YouTube videos.

On stage, Tony’s eyes dart to the side, meeting Pepper’s. Whatever non-verbal communication passes between them, it causes Tony’s lips to curl into a smirk.

“Well, Mr. Swartz, then I’d expect better from you than to quote Stephen Hawking out of context. KAREN, give me the full quote please.”

One second later, said clip appears in a holographic projection. The room has grown eerily still. Peter would, too, if he had no idea where this was going. 

“Thanks, KAREN.”

“You’re welcome, boss.”

Tony grins at the room at large. “Meet KAREN, the artificial intelligence in charge of your shower. And before you ask,” he adds, raising a hand preemptively, “she’s more than capable of doing a tiny little hologram at the same time as managing the hydraulics of over eight million people. Now, do you want me to go into detail or shout some more first?” 

What follows is the most amazing thing Peter has ever seen Tony do on a stage. He explains the brilliance of KAREN, the arc reactor powering her, half the safeguards installed (not in any significant detail, mind you), and the reasons KAREN won’t go postal on them and instigate a revolution of the machines, all in a way that’s easy to follow and, most importantly, easy to break into smaller chunks for quotes and sound bites. 

It’s obvious to Peter that it's been scripted cause Tony doesn't usually talk like that. He’s the definition of science babble if left to his own devices, but today the ‘dumb people talk’ rolls off his tongue loads better than just the night before when it was all about penis metaphors. 

The most awesome thing, though, is that he actually sheds some of his mask as he talks. Passion lights up his eyes and pride colors his tone as he lists the leaps people can expect now that SI has mastered artificial intelligence and yeah, Peter is perfectly aware that he sounds like the protagonist in a YA romance novel, _thank you very much._

He can't help it – after all the time spent with Tony, how could anyone not... 

… love him.

Peter’s mind stops. 

_Oh no._

He’s been so, so good at denial. Stellar, in fact. But it’s no use anymore. 

Not when it's staring him right in the face.

And taking questions, apparently, cause that’s what Tony segues into right then. The atmosphere in the room shifts like flicking a switch, and Peter couldn’t have been yanked out of his epiphany more effectively if someone had poured ice water over his head. Pun intended. 

Tony spots something in the crowd and smirks. “Oh yes, Mr. Swartz, I figured you’d find yourself with queries. Why don’t you start us off with some light fear-mongering?”

“I have something better,” the guy says. 

And throws a round object at the podium.

Peter’s reaction time is sluggish cause he’s still distracted and before he knows what’s going on, the orb thingy hits Tony in the head. Upon impact –

It bursts.

It’s a water bomb. 

_That’s actually quite cheeky,_ Peter finds himself thinking while the security guards descend on the attacker, and he looks back to the podium expecting to see Tony laughing it off – 

Only he isn’t. 

Tony’s not on stage – or no, he is, but not vertical anymore. He’s on his knees, one hand to the ground and one clutching his chest – right over the arc reactor, Peter realizes with a horrible sense of dawning dread. 

That’s all Peter sees before people in suits flock around Tony. Mrs. Potts steps up to the microphone and starts talking but Peter doesn’t take in a word she says. His feet are already moving – _why was he standing at the back of the room?!_ – while everyone is clamoring to get a better look at the genius engineer who has seemingly collapsed on stage. 

Peter diverts to the right, planning to take the long route, but he’s not so much as broken out of the crowd when the stage has cleared and Peter has no idea where they’d take Tony or how he could possibly follow them there.

But he needs to make sure Tony's okay, he needs to see him and help and –

The penthouse. 

It’s Tony’s home, his safe place, second only to the workshop. He’s gonna go there, Peter is sure. He won’t stay backstage, not when the conference is over. 

It’s easy for Peter to slip out of the lobby in the flurry of activity and chaos. He’s made blending into the decor in the eyes of rich and entitled people into an art form (which works on everyone but Flash, unfortunately) so he reaches the back entrance without drawing attention.

Yin must have risen when the door opened cause one hand is already on his taser when he spots Peter, who flounders.

“Uh, I, um, I'm,” he stutters, pointing towards the private elevator. 

Yin considers him, mouth a thin line, for three torturous seconds. Then, with a glance at Peter's badge, he nods and lets him pass.

Peter exhales in relief when the elevator doors close behind him.

It doesn’t move.

What the ... 

_Oh no._ JARVIS. 

Peter pushes the up button again. _Please …_

Nothing.

“I know I'm not your favorite person, Mr. JARVIS,” Peter begins in a rush, “but I think Tony’s having a panic attack and someone needs to see if he’s okay – I mean, of course he’s not _okay_ okay but I need to see him, I can help, I’ve got experience with this sort of thing and Tony really shouldn’t be alone right now.” 

Still nothing. 

“Please, Mr. JARVIS, let me up. You don’t have a body but I do! We’re playing for the same team here, please.” 

Peter stops, breathing hard, his heart beating against his chest the only thing he can hear above the dead silence from the metal around him. He wants to cry, to beg, to bargain but he has nothing to offer, nothing at all and he’s never felt so helpless. 

So he goes for broke. 

“Please, Mr. JARVIS,” he whispers. “You need to let me up. I love him.” 

Peter squeezes his eyes shut. If this doesn’t work, he –

 _WHRUM._

The elevator starts moving.

“Thank you,” Peter mutters, sagging against the polished wall. 

No reply comes but that’s fine. At least they’re ascending, up and up, all the way to the penthouse. Peter’s out the doors the second they’re open, skidding to a halt in the empty living room. 

“Sir is currently in the ensuite bathroom,” the AI provides. 

“Thanks!” Peter says again, a bit surprised even as adrenaline courses through his veins. It propels him forward despite the sense of déjà vu which is giving him the creeps. 

_He’s not May, he’s not May,_ Peter repeats like a mantra on his way past the living room into the bedroom and to the locked ensuite door. The lock’s electromagnetic, meaning only JARVIS can disengage it unless you know the combination for the keypad. 

Which Peter doesn’t. 

But before he can so much as look up, the light on the keypad changes color and Peter nods his head at where he suspects the nearest sensor to be.

Getting his breathing under control takes a moment, as does calming down. If Tony needed anything beyond a friendly face though, JARVIS would have informed Pepper or Dr. Banner, that’s for sure. 

He finds Tony, fully clothed, sitting in the shallow shower tub with the water running. Steam is fogging up the mirror on Peter’s right – the water’s gotta be close to scalding. 

Tony’s usually fluffed hair clings to his forehead like his shirt does to his chest, the outline of the arc reactor prominent and rising with every quick, shallow breath Tony’s taking. His eyes, though… His eyes are staring into nothing. 

He looks more vulnerable than Peter has ever seen him – ever expected to see him, to be honest, so the first thing he does is clear his throat and announce his presence with a knock. 

No reaction. 

Okay, he can work with that. 

Peter shuts the door, approaches the shower as casually as he can to the soft click of the lock behind him, and calls Tony’s name.

The man’s eyes remain unfocused. 

Peter sighs. Anxiety attacks are different for everyone and only because sounds help anchor his aunt to the present doesn’t mean they’re gonna help Tony. Is that what the water is for? But didn’t water set him off in the first place? Peter has to curb his curiosity at that point – whatever memory triggered this is none of his concern, not at the moment. 

Peter’s been told he has great instincts when it comes to helping people, so he runs with what they tell him – not like he has any other options, mind you – and shucks his jacket and zip hoodie, shoes and socks until all he’s left in are jeans and his layered long-sleeve-T-shirt combo. He knocks on the glass of the shower door one more time, waits, and eventually enters. 

It’s hot – unfortunately in the literal sense – and uncomfortably close to burning. Peter grits his teeth and lowers himself to a sitting position in Tony’s field of vision. 

Seconds trickle by. 

Peter is soaked within a minutes, but his body gradually adjusts to the extreme temperatures as he takes his time cataloguing Tony’s posture, from the locked joints to the death grip his fingers have on his knees. 

It happens suddenly: one moment Tony’s disassociated, the next his eyes are totally clear and back in the present. 

They widen in surprise when they fall on Peter and Tony’s entire body jerks back against the tiles. 

Peter lifts his palms. “Hi.”

It’s a testament to how tired Tony is that he doesn’t even swear. He just takes a moment, slicks his hair back with a trembling hand, and fixes Peter with a flat look. 

“I’m sure you’ve got better places to be.” 

Peter shakes his head. 

“I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“I was aiming more for ‘company’, actually,” Peter says with a wry smile. “Looks like you’ve got a handle on it or, uh, more like a strategy…”

Tony’s brow furrows, almost like he can’t quite take Peter’s word for it. He shakes his head after a beat. “No, Pepper wouldn’t have sent you. JARVIS still thinks you’re on Osborn’s payroll –”

“What –?!”

“– but you must’ve had someone let you in.”

Peter blushes. “Mr. JARVIS,” he admits. 

He’s never seen Tony so thoroughly baffled. It looks kinda hilarious, with his hair sticking to his forehead and his drenched clothes. 

“How’d you pull that off?”

Peter has to look away cause his poker face is far from good enough to hide what he’s feeling right now. “I, uh… Logic.”

Tony lifts his eyes to a point near the ceiling with an arched eyebrow. “That so, buddy?”

For one second of blind panic, Peter can’t breathe – cause to his knowledge, JARVIS never keeps anything from Tony and _fuck, this so wasn’t the plan._

But what the AI ends up saying is, “Mr. Parker simply pointed out that he is corporeal and thus more capable of rendering assistance should you require it, sir,” and Peter can’t quite believe his luck. 

“But Mr. Parker has school today,” Tony parrots in an awful JARVIS-impression, “so he should really be –”

“Excused officially, yes, sir. I have already informed the school that Mr. Parker twisted his ankle and is currently receiving professional care, which will prevent him from attending his classes today.”

Twisted his ankle? That’s gotta be revenge, Peter decides, even though he’s oddly touched by the AI’s show of solidarity. Yet how this white lie fits into the computer’s subroutines and algorithms, Peter’s not sure. Should JARVIS ever be willing to, he’d love to pick the guy’s… CPU?

“Fine,” Tony grumbles. His hands release his knees in favor of rubbing his thighs through the wet cloth of his dress pants. “But I don’t need any assistance.” 

Peter just nods at that since he doubts Tony would have heard him if he’d said anything – the other man’s eyes have glazed over again. One second he was here, the next gone. Maybe it wasn’t over after all and Tony’s fugue states fluctuate? 

He shifts to cross his legs and find a more comfortable position. It might be a while before he’s dry again. 

*

“Unacceptable,” Happy mutters for the seventh time. Pepper counted. “Simply unacceptable.”

“My sincerest apologies, sir and ma’am. We’re still investigating,” their deputy head of security says. 

Péquart’s a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a moustache that always makes Pepper want to introduce new bylaws to protect her employees from wearing beards that are hurtful to the human eye. He’s also unable to explain today’s security breach and the reason Tony had his first flashback in almost six months. 

“I was investigating, too – but _I_ actually found something!”

The three of them turn as one to a furious Yasmine McKenna. 

“They filled them in the lady’s room,” she explains. “I found a ripped, unused balloon underneath the discarded paper towels.”

After checking with Happy, Péquart hurries after McKenna and Pepper can finally shed the aura of calm she’s been doing her damnedest to project. 

Happy’s in her space immediately, rubbing soothing circles into her shoulder blade with one hand. 

“Can we still fire him?” he wonders, presumably only to make Pepper chuckle. 

“If that’s indeed how they did it, you won’t have any grounds.”

“I’ll make grounds,” Happy grumbles. 

“And add signing off on a promotion on top of my plate? Not this week, Happy.” She heaves a sigh and rubs her tired eyes. “I need to check on Tony. It’s been too long already. Can you handle this circus for a moment?”

“Course I can! I’m head of security, aren’t I?”

Pepper chuckles into their parting kiss. 

She manages to maintain her smile until she reaches the private elevator, where she collapses against the wall as JARVIS wordlessly takes her upstairs. She toes off her shoes since she’s been on heels for the better part of eighteen hours and even she has her limits. 

Already everyone’s speculating it was a panic attack. There’s enough footage for people who know the signs to appear in annoying expert segments on national television. 

To think that Tony was doing so well... 

Her steps are silent on the living room floor. The morning sunlight seems wrong somehow. It feels more like the middle of the night after a long, hard battle rather than the first morning of a regular work week. 

The bedroom door is already ajar and she’s about to push it open further when the voices register. One, she recognizes immediately; she couldn’t forget Tony’s timbre if she wanted to. 

And the other… 

“… know, my lap’s probably not that comfortable, but my aunt says that contact helps center her, so, uh, just try it?” 

“This is uncomfortably close to cuddling, kid.”

“So?”

Peter Parker, the sixteen-year-old from the workshop back in November. The minor Tony promised not to touch. 

It’s moments like these Pepper genuinely considers just quitting and taking over some non-profit or other because then she might possibly make it to fifty before her first heart attack. 

The sound of shifting fabric emerges from the bedroom. Intrigued, Pepper leans forward to peek through the crack. 

Indeed, there’s Peter Parker, his hair damp, sitting with his back against the headboard and bare from the waist up. If he’s naked below the waist as well, Tony’s equally bare chest and shoulders are doing a good job of hiding it. Peter has one hand in Tony’s hair, the other is – well, _caressing_ is the only word that seems to fit what he’s doing to the skin around the arc reactor. 

“Tony?” he whispers. 

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

“I’m serious.”

“That’s what I feared.” Tony sighs. “Yeah, go ahead, whatever.”

“Uh,” Peter begins awkwardly. “It’s totally fine if you don’t wanna answer, it’s really none of my business but I’ve been trying to come up with an explanation and it’s, uh, I mean…” A deep breath. “Why the shower?”

Pepper inhales sharply. It’s something she has never dared to ask – it always seemed too private. Too personal. Besides, she instinctively knew Tony wouldn’t want to tell her but that he’d feel obligated to since that’s how relationships work; you share secrets. You let the other person in. 

She waits for Tony’s ‘You’re right, that’s none of your fucking business’ so she can finally make her presence known – yet it never comes. 

“It’s pathetic, really,” Tony says instead. “Quite ridiculous.”

Peter makes an inquisitive noise. 

“Turning up the shower, it… it reminds me that I’m in control. Of the water, I mean. That I’m not back in the cave. They… Well, I guess you can connect the dots by now.”

A beat. “They tortured you?”

“Torture’s such an ugly word,” Tony snorts. “Just some minor waterboarding here and there. Nothing too heavy. Needed me alive, after all. But their water was always freezing and…” He shrugs. “So when it gets too bad, the memories, I mean… I turn on the shower as hot as JARVIS lets me and just… let it run.”

Pepper’s heart aches in sympathy even as she’s trying to wrap her head around Tony genuinely _opening up_ to this, this, this _teenager_. 

“That’s not pathetic at all,” Peter says. His voice is barely more than a whisper. “Makes a lot of sense, if you put it like that. Whatever helps, I guess?” 

Tony gives a self-deprecating snort. 

“No, I mean, it’s you who’s got to find a way to, to cope, right, no one can do it for you, as much as they’d…”

He cuts himself off. Pepper feels her brow furrow at the understanding in the kid’s tone and watches her reaction mirrored on Tony’s face. 

The boy heaves a sigh heavier than someone his age has any right to do. 

“I can’t go into stores that sell jewelry.” 

Tony blinks at that. “Good thing then that they’re usually really conspicuous.”

“No, I mean... Peter bites his lip. “ _Any_ store that sells jewelry. Most clothing shops do now and a couple of other places and it’s weird but, well. Can’t help it.”

“Why?”

“I was, uh, getting to that.”

To Pepper’s surprise, all Tony does is nod for the kid to go on instead of giving an impatient wave like she would have expected. 

Peter clears his throat. “My uncle died in a jewelry store,” he says. “I was there. May, too.” 

“I figured that.”

Peter winces. “Yeah. She, uh. She blames herself. Ben gave her earrings for her birthday and she didn’t like the color so we went to exchange them for different ones. That’s when the robbers came in.” 

He’s silent for a moment. Pepper sees his shoulders shake with a shudder. 

“They had guns. I don’t... I should have done something but they grabbed May and Ben told me to stay back. He...” Peter chokes, unable to go on. 

“Hey, you don’t need – I get the gist,” Tony says, sitting up. “Uncle shot in front of your eyes, jewelry’s a no-go. Don’t get why that’s pathetic especially compared to my uneconomic coping habits, buuut –” 

“It’s not a competition!” The boy seems to have surprised himself with how fierce he sounded. Softer, he says, “I mean... everyone’s different, how they get o– move on.” 

Their gazes lock. Pepper holds her breath. 

After a moment, however, Tony tears his eyes away and settles back down, his head back in Peter’s lap again.

Pepper reaches out – whether to open the door fully or close it further, she couldn’t possibly say – but her movement must have been more conspicuous than intended for it draws Peter Parker’s gaze.

The boy’s eyes flare with panic as they meet Pepper’s and for the length of a heartbeat Pepper imagines making her presence known. Both men would startle, there’d be frantic search for clothing items culminating in accusations and raised voices since Tony’s head is cradled in the lap of a _minor_ , for goodness’s sake – 

And yet. 

And yet, Pepper can’t remember ever seeing Tony this relaxed a mere two hours after an anxiety attack, can’t recall him ever being this at ease after a PR disaster. 

So in the end, it’s not much of a decision.

She holds Peter Parker’s gaze for another moment and slips away from the door without a single noise.


	15. fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame the delay on Tony's weird mood! Totally his fault! He wasn't really happy to talk to me for some weird reason... _*wraps him in a blanket to soft classic rock*_

Tony wishes he could think of his bedroom as a cocoon. Sure, he feels safe there – but ‘cocoon’ implies he’s some sort of larva, ready to turn into a beautiful butterfly. 

He’s no butterfly. He gave up on that a long time ago. 

No, his bedroom’s more of a bubble, albeit a temporary one. A place far removed from the rest of the world, where all that matters for these brief periods of time is Peter’s hand in his hair and his fingers stroking his chest. 

It can’t last. Tony’s head is never quiet for long, even after revisiting the horrors of Afghanistan. And besides, even in its quiet state, there’s still ample activity. You’d think there’d come a point where it all just stops – the theories, schematics, the worries, the calculations… but Tony’s been waiting for forty-eight years for that moment and so far it’s been in vain. 

Just as Tony feels the usual busy hum of his mind return full-force, Peter’s stomach rumbles.

Laughing, Tony lifts his head from Peter’s lap, then swings into a sitting position. 

“Oh, kid,” he chuckles. “Yeah, food might not be the worst idea you’ve had today.”

“I’m full of great ideas,” Peter grins. 

“Oh yeah? That include marketing the web fluid to civilians?” 

Predictably, Peter dives into a litany of protests which Tony stops by throwing a pair of jeans from the drawer at the kid’s head. He takes that as his cue to get dressed, and Tony seizes the chance to withdraw from the bed and slip into the bathroom. 

He can’t quite gain his footing – not being alone after an episode feels strange. It’s weirdly intimate, yet in a totally different way compared to all the blow jobs they’ve been sharing or that pretty hot bit of intercrural. 

It makes him feel off-balance, and Tony hates it. 

He checks his reflection in the mirror but his face looks fine, if a little ashen. Then why does it feel like there are some layers missing? Even putting on fresh clothes is a challenge. His hands aren’t shaking per se, but they might as well. 

And if he spends any more time thinking, he’s gonna regret it. Time for evasive maneuvers. 

“What cuisine are you in the mood for?” Tony calls out. Anything to get them out of this before it becomes awkward. “There’s one Indian place on the list that even Bruce deigns to order from – how’s that sound?” 

Peter pops his head in. Of course he’s grinning from ear to ear. 

“Oh yes! Can we get that bread thingy with the dips? I’ve never had Indian but that’s what they give you for starters, right?”

“Never had... You’re living in _Queens_ , how did you make it to sixteen without ever having Indian food?” 

Peter averts his eyes even as his cheeks flush. “Well, take-out’s always been a treat and, uh, May usually goes for Thai?”

Tony shakes his head. “Jeez, you hear that, buddy?”

“Ordering dinner now, sir,” JARVIS, the saint, replies promptly. 

*

“It’s papadam, for the record. Can’t let you eat it without knowing what it is.” 

Peter nods, all solemn and serious. He always treats what Tony feeds him – figuratively, mind you, there are lines to Tony’s kinks – like a convict does his final meal. Tony doesn’t get it; it’s just take-out, for fuck’s sake.

“You got a shift tonight?” 

Tony has the kid’s schedule memorized but Peter doesn’t need to know that. 

“Uh, no, not until tomorrow, but, uh, I sort of got homework? I’m really sorry, I’d like to stay but it’s Spanish and I –”

“You’ve stayed long enough already. Can’t have you getting into any more trouble with school for me. And hey,” Tony continues before Peter has a chance to argue, “I’ll just bug you at work tomorrow. It’s been ages since I’ve tried a new brew.” 

“W-what?”

“Me, coming to your shop. Like the good old times.”

“But – I mean, shouldn’t you be resting?” 

Tony blinks.

“You just, uh, I mean, episodes like that take their toll and your body needs rest now – your mind, too, and when you’re outside all the people... I mean, uh... it could be a bit much, I think?”

Tony still has no idea what to say.

“And what about if people ask questions?” Peter rambles on, food forgotten in front of him. “Are you sure you want – okay, I guess you don’t, but most people aren’t that considerate and... what?”

“The only question they’re gonna ask is if my suit’s been dry-cleaned yet. What the hell’re you on about, kid?” 

Peter tilts his head. “The, uh, the anxiety attack?”

Tony lets his lips twitch. “What anxiety attack?”

He’s never seen Peter this bewildered. “The one you – what’d you mean, what anxiety attack?”

Shrugging, Tony eats another bite of pakora. “Water got in my eye, Or on my suit or whatever. I tripped. It happens, even to the paragon of grace that is me.” He aims an exaggerated smile at Peter. “Security decided to remove me from the stage – well, it’ll be something like that or some other PR shtick that’ll fly with those blood-sucking vampires that call themselves journalists. Either way, they’re off my back and on that dickhead who thought it’d be fucking hilarious to throw a water bomb at me.”

“But why – why would you lie?”

Peter’s tone is weird, almost as if he’s hurt. _What the …?_

“Why wouldn’t I?” Tony challenges. 

“Because…” Peter swallows, seemingly at a loss for words. Usually it’s a great look on him, but now it has the definite undertone of Tony having fucked up some way or another, and that’s… less great. 

“Because it happened. People saw. People who know what it feels like saw. And now they’re… What’re they supposed to think?” 

Tony lifts his bowl and scrapes the last spoonful of food from the bottom while arching a ‘Why should I care?’ eyebrow at the kid, whose frown deepens. 

“But you’re – they look up to you. If _you’re_ not able to talk about it, how are _they_ supposed to be open about their problems? If you keep, keep… perpetuating the silence, aren’t you complicit when people don’t talk about it and maybe, uh, maybe end up hurt?”

“I think you’ve been hanging around that MJ chick too much.”

“No, she didn’t – okay, she does have some choice words on the matter, but they mostly focus on your, um, your…”

“Let me guess, my slutty twenties? And thirties?” Tony suggests with a sigh. 

Good thing he finished since he’s suddenly not hungry anymore. He gets up to start clearing plates and it’s a testament to how preoccupied Peter is that he doesn’t immediately jump in to help. 

“No, she was talking more about your, uh, former, uh, drug habit? And the, uh, the drinking? Like, if you were talking about that more openly instead of just pushing it under the rug then it’d be easier for other people, you know, other people with the same problems to, uh, you know…” 

Gawd, the kid’s beet red and he wasn’t even the one bribing his way out of arrests and DIUs. 

“But I thought, uh,” he continues, somewhat able to look Tony again, “that was the past, you know? And now you could…”

“What?” Tony challenges, snapping the lid of the dishwasher shut. He knows exactly where this is going but he’s not gonna do the kid any favors here. 

Peter inhales deeply, squares his shoulders and meets Tony’s challenging stare head on. Peter’s demeanor towards him may have changed considerably in the past months, yet this is still very much the young barista who refused to sell Tony the pastries meant for some homeless druggie, just on principle. 

“You could talk about it,” Peter says. “Admit to it. You’d be a great role model, Tony. I’m sure your PR people could find a way to spin that or make it work with focus groups or whatever, but there’re so many people out there who’re suffering and feel like they need to hide and they’re gonna see that press conference and _know_ you’re the same, but then they’ll see that you’re hiding and they’ll withdraw more and…” Peter draws a wet breath. “I’ve seen how it ends when you don’t talk about it.” 

_Shit._ Of course this is about May, too. 

Though while Tony’s chest aches in sympathy, he can’t quite muster anything more.

“Peter, I’m never gonna be some poster child for mental health awareness.” 

“But why? You have the resources, the standing, the –”

“I have a country, heck, a _world_ to convince that KAREN’s about as harmless as a light bulb, I’ve gotta save my stock prices from the inevitable nosedive, I gotta set up meetings with the DoD about AI where I tell them kindly to get the hell outta my face, and I’ve got an arc reactor waiting to be fitted into a moving vehicle so I can finally revolutionize the automobile industry and flood the world with sustainable energy – cause I’m a _business man_ , Peter, not a role model. Don’t make me into a hero.”

“You could be! You are already!”

Tony laughs out loud at that. “Yeah? To whom? Some half-decent engineers at MIT who see my jets and my tower and fantasize about the revenge of the nerds?”

“No, to those who think that science can make a difference in the world!” Peter snaps back, and oh boy, when did he get so angry?

Although, Tony thinks he finally figured out what the problem is. 

“Okay, sure… But even they’re gonna have to realize that idealism doesn’t pay your taxes.”

Peter gapes. He’s next to the kitchen island, the floor-to-ceiling windows at his back. The sunlight makes his hair shine, but his eyes are far from happy. “What?” 

“We’ve been over this, Peter – I’m never gonna install arc reactors in poor neighborhoods or just give away the cure for cancer whenever Bruce manages to finally whip it up, because all those resources you think give me some kind of power? Well, guess what: I’ve gotta maintain them. And even you should’ve learned by now that giving away stuff? Uh-uh, not helping. Basic law of economics, really.”

“But… but can’t you help, just a little?”

“And where would I stop?” Tony spreads his hands. “This is better for the bigger picture. Think about the long run.”

Peter has begun nodding, but it doesn’t look like genuine agreement. His eyes are shining, which Tony hates, but he hates sugar-coating more. Tony never said he’s a good man. The presence of a sixteen-year-old in his penthouse should be ample proof of that. 

“Well,” Peter says, voice shaking, “I better leave you to your Ivory Tower, then. Make sure May’s okay, do my homework, you know… so one day I’ll get to make the world a better place.”

The kid’s out of the kitchen like a bat out of hell. Tony exhales at length and wraps his arms around his body. 

“On a scale of one to ten,” he wonders, “how angry is he?”

“I would need to know your definition of the end points on that scale in order to adequately calculate my response, sir.”

“I guess at a ten he’ll throw my next coffee in my face.”

“Then I’d say nine, sir.”

Tony huffs and runs a hand through his hair. It’s dried since their shared shower. They didn’t even use the chance for shower sex, damn it, and now he can’t stop worrying about how Peter’s gonna react when he walks into the _Hybrid Puppy_ tomorrow. Probably best to give the kid a night to cool off. 

Tony should really check with PR if that’s a good idea anyway. Maybe they’ll give him a reason to coop up in the tower – _Ivory Tower_ , Peter’s voice echoes in his head – after all, but past experiences have taught him better. They want him outside, projecting a confident image. All’s fine, nothing to worry about. Keep buying our stock. Don’t be afraid of your shower. 

“JARVIS, be a dear and float that by Remy.”

“That being your visit to _The Hybrid Puppy_ , sir?”

“Yeah, what’d you think I’ve been on about?”

“You have been silent for two minutes, sir.”

Tony’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Indeed. Do you want me to replay the footage?”

He’s already shaking his head. “Nah, just… ask Remy, or McKenna. I’ll be fine.”

Peter even forgot to take the leftovers with him. Tony considers the half-eaten carton of masala and seriously contemplates just binning it, but then he’d have to listen to another speech on food waste with some appalling statistic (and if SI’s cafeteria has ceased throwing uneaten food away starting January of this year, Tony’s never ever going to mention it to Peter cause it’ll only fuel the ‘be a hero’-type discussions he really doesn’t need in his life) and… where was he? 

Right. Putting leftovers in the fridge. Starting the ‘There’s Still Food in the House’ protocol. 

Next thing he knows, JARVIS relates Remy’s “Yes, please, and have as many pictures taken as possible”, so there’s that sorted. He’ll drop by tomorrow, increase the shop’s revenue some more, maybe steal some of Toomes’s experimental pastries from the display, do some covert flirting and see how that goes.

Thing is, Tony can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between Peter and him, something pivotal, despite his best efforts to keep the kid at arm’s length. Seems like good intentions don’t mean shit when helping someone in the throes of a panic attack, regardless of the disillusionment that happened after. 

“Sir, Mrs. Potts and Dr. Banner are in the elevator.”

Tony jerks around. He only just stepped up to the window to look across the city… or didn’t he?

“It has been twenty minutes, sir.”

“Did I say that –”

“Yes, sir.”

“Guess that’s something.” Tony takes a deep breath and checks his appearance in the window. Casual dress pants, threadbare T-shirt… Yeah, he’ll need another layer. 

He cuts across the penthouse and into the ensuite, dropping a towel over Peter’s pile of day-old clothes when he notices them. Bless his discrete housekeeping staff, but they won’t be in until later...

By the time Pepper and Bruce reach the kitchen, he’s buttoning a shirt. 

“Tony?” Pepper calls. 

“Bedroom!”

A pause. Then, “Alone?”

Tony’s hand slips and the cuff falls to the floor. _What the hell?_

He remembers to pick it up and slow his pace before barging out into the kitchen area. 

“Of course I’m alone, Pep,” he tells her with a carefree wave. “Unless you count JARVIS, but I thought we stopped that in 2009. Hi, Bruce.” 

His friend inclines his head but doesn’t return the smile. His brows are pinched – oh damn, that’s never good. 

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks, all sincere and solemn. 

“What, like JARVIS hasn’t been transmitting my stats since it happened?” Tony shoots back. “I’m fine. It’s passed.”

“The after-effects –”

“Are passing, too, doc. I’m fine! ‘s that why you’re here? Seriously, CEO and doctor, you’d think I’m on my death bed.” 

He finishes with his shirt, then flees to the coffee machine. The pot’s still fresh, seeing as Peter and he never got to drinking it. Tony lifts it to the others with a questioning arch of his eyebrow while grabbing his favorite mug, but neither of them accepts. 

“More for me, then.” 

Tony starts pouring with a smirk and – 

“When did he leave?”

– promptly spills half the pot over the floor. 

“Jeez, Pepper, I could’ve burned myself! Then what would you have?”

“Satisfaction?” she offers, arms akimbo.

Pepper has a violent streak which she usually reserves for when he’s in very, very deep shit. Bruce’s expression is giving absolutely _nothing_ away, so Tony shoots her a quizzical look as the penthouse’s version of a Roomba whirls towards him, sensors set on the coffee stains at Tony’s feet. 

Pepper’s chest heaves with a forceful inhale. “I was here earlier to check on you,” she says, and just like that dread clogs up Tony’s stomach. She waits a moment before confirming what he already knows. “I saw you. Both of you.”

Tony leans back against the counter and takes a sip of his coffee. It’s awesome, despite the circumstances. A decent lifeline while he waits for Pepper to explain the two-people production of ‘Let’s Get Tony To Talk’ about to disappoint the critics in his kitchen. 

“I didn’t want to interrupt, so I left… I ran into Bruce on the way down and ended up mentioning it to him –” 

“You mean you’ve been gossiping behind my back like two old hags?”

“This is serious, Tony,” Pepper huffs. “The workshop, okay, we might be able to explain that away, but the penthouse? Alone with you? What if someone sees him leave? You might think JARVIS is omnipotent, but I assure you that people’s greed and curiosity are still a match for him.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Tony says. “I mean, _Christ_ , the way you’re butting into my business –”

“You promised me you’d keep your hands off him!”

“I did! I have!” Tony swears, and even he’s impressed by how honest he sounds. Or by the fact that he manages not to spill any of the coffee with all his gesticulating. 

Both Pepper and Bruce seem skeptical, but it’s Bruce who narrows his eyes at him.

“When’s his birthday?”

Tony considers holding his tongue. But well… no use denying they’ve been anticipating the date. “Nineteen days.” 

“And what do you think is going to happen after these nineteen days, mister?” Pepper says. 

“If you want me to draw you a picture, Pep, I’ll try, but you’re better off trolling my CockyBoys account.”

She closes her eyes in exasperation – okay, Tony needs to dial it down cause she’s getting really pissed. He throws a wink at Bruce, whose lips… are twitching, yes! 

“You honestly think you’ll be off the hook once that boy turns seventeen?” Pepper asks. “Do you have any proof that absolutely nothing happened prior to that date? Because you know they’re going to ask _the second_ it gets out – and yes, Tony, it will get out,” she adds before Tony has a chance to argue. 

“Our word for it? Come on, Pepper, how the hell am I supposed to prove something like that?” 

“Has he even signed an NDA yet?”

Tony suddenly realizes how interesting the contents of his coffee cup are. He hears Bruce failing to suppress a chuckle. 

“Tony…” Pepper begins, her tone low and cold. Uh-oh. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve let a kid, a teenage boy who spends his days working at a coffee shop, into your workshop near classified projects? Company secrets? And you didn’t have him sign an NDA before he crossed the threshold?”

“Jeez, you make him sound like a vampire… He wouldn’t talk to anyone, alright? There’s been no need. Besides, didn’t he sign something when we invested in his shop? I’m sure Lawyer Number Three mentioned something…”

“His name’s Larry, he’s the _head_ of the department, Tony; please start remembering that. And Peter Parker’s been to your workshop _weeks_ before the investment. What were you thinking?”

“Fine! I’ll bring it up, is that what you wanna hear, Pepper?”

“No,” she says, “what I want to hear is that you’ll stop seeing him, but I realize now that that’s not going to happen.” 

Tony bites down his ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ because he’s intimately aware that he’ll utterly despise the conversation that follows. Bruce seems to be thinking along the same lines, judging by the glint in his eyes. 

“So I’ll contend myself with a thorough NDA,” Pepper continues. “A _retroactive_ NDA, Tony, you hear me? He’s turned down an internship at OSCORP once due to his work obligations but there’s no guarantee he’ll do the same if they approach him again.”

Tony snorts. “Ha, Peter’s never gonna work for such a sleazebag, seriously, Pepper.”

“Which sleazebag are you talking about here, Tony?”

 _Ouch._

“I think we should let him get some rest, Pepper.” Bruce places a hand on her arm. “He’ll make sure we get the NDA, won’t he?”

Tony nods. That’s gonna be a fun conversation… 

“Maybe Larry can even draw something up until noon tomorrow?” 

Bless Bruce – always so result-oriented. 

With one last sigh, Pepper nods. She squeezes Tony’s arm gently, like she’s afraid she’ll spook him with her touch. Tony wonders why she doesn’t have the same concern when it comes to her words, but figuring out the inner workings of Pepper Potts is no longer his job. 

It comes with a weird sense of déjà vu – back in the depths of ’08, she’d talk but not touch and Tony didn’t have the words to ask her to stop.

Bruce contends himself with a smile. There’s a weird undercurrent to it, but Tony decides he’s earned the right to ignore that for the time being. He needs some quality time in his workshop but he’s nowhere near focused enough. He’s also been awake going on… too many hours. Sleep, probably? Too bad he’s not tired yet. Well. 

Tony ambles to the bar, selects the good scotch, the _really_ good one, the one that doesn’t give him a headache the next morning, and settles onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. 

Retroactive NDA. Great. To think he was looking forward to dropping by the shop again. Ain’t gonna be a fun conversation, especially in light of their… what, fight? Tony cringes into his tumbler. No, not fight, but… disagreement. Just a variance in opinion. 

Well. A variance in opinion that means Tony doesn’t know what to expect from their next meeting, especially in public. He wishes he could seek out the kid in private but the risk of being caught during daylight hours… 

Nope. Way too high. 

Tony downs the contents of his glass and immediately grabs the bottle for a refill. 

He’ll just have to wing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Tony... 
> 
> So we've now passed the midpoint of my outline... ? _*looks at chapter count*_ Hm... I guess no one will complain if this fic ends up more in the upper twenties?
> 
> And omg, I'm still floored by reaching 1,200+ kudos with this! Thank you, my dear readers! <3


	16. sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lo and behold, after five larger rewrites this chapter has finally been deemed worthy of posting! Seriously, this story wouldn't be half as good without merlenhiver. Thank you for your nit-picking and honesty, darling ♥♥♥
> 
> (and omfg, 1300+ kudos?!?! *dies*)

“Ey, birthday boy!”

Peter sighs into the Valentine Velvet he’s steaming milk for and glances over his shoulder. He can’t seem to keep the scowl off his face, even for Toomes.

“Why so grumpy, Parker? Stark not putting out?” 

Peter covers his wince with an eye-roll and finishes the drink which he passes to a chuckling Chet, who’s managing the first floor with him today. 

“That the drink for Valentine’s Day?” Toomes asks. 

“Maybe.” Peter shrugs. “It’d be easier to come up with one if I knew what we’ll be selling to go with it.”

He immediately cringes at his tone but Toomes smirks, fortunately. 

“So the puppy barks, eh? Remind me not to get on your bad side, Parker. And you’ll get that info when you get it. Got half a mind to just pile that shit on my sous chef. Fucking holiday. Just another excuse to milk our pockets.” 

“Well… Aren’t you doing the same?” 

“Nah,” Toomes spits, “my Valentine Day cupcakes ain’t gonna cost double just because of some stupid date, Parker. I don’t go in for that nonsense. Gimme that.” 

Toomes grabs the cup from Chet, who is too scared of the baker to protest. 

“Too much salt. Bah, you trying to poison your customers?” The man shudders. “But yeah, I can work with that. And here’s more for your crazy taste testers.” 

“Thanks,” Peter tells him. “But why didn’t you leave it with my aunt?” 

“Oh, she’s busy, talking to some guy. Besides, gotta ask what kinda cake you want for your party. Can’t promise I’ll make it, but maybe you’ll catch me in a generous mood that day.”

“Um,” Peter’s not sure what to react to first, so he settles for the easiest question. “Something vegan? Without nuts?” 

“You’re a riot today. Didn’t ask for the dietary restrictions of your fucking guest list, now, did I?” 

“Uh, sorry... M-maybe something with blueberry?” Then Peter remembers the season and he backtracks. “Or vanilla, vanilla’s fine!” 

“You realize I’m using the good shit, right? Won’t make a difference if I buy blueberries or the vanilla extract, really.”

“I can reimburse you for the –”

“Ha, just messing with you, son.” Toomes takes a final gulp of the Valentine Velvet (which needs a new name cause there’s nothing velvet-y about it anymore) and passes the almost-empty mug back to a wide-eyed Chet. “You gotta cheer up, Parker. You’re in customer service. Now excuse me, ladies, I gotta change.”

And Toomes is gone as suddenly as he appeared. Peter catches him strutting through the service door that leads to the back of the house cause for some reason Toomes seems to think supplying them with baked goods gives him the right to treat the _Hybrid Puppy_ like a branch of his own store. But it’s mostly fine; Toomes only ever does this when he’s meeting some buddies of his and is running late after a delivery and then leaves through the back to avoid the crowds, both of which are impulses Peter can empathize with. 

To think that the man also works in customer service…

“He has a point, though,” Chet admits, pulling Peter out of his thoughts. “About cheering up. You’re all weird today.”

“Sorry,” Peter mumbles. 

It’s difficult to focus on work when all he wants is a time machine. Not to take back what he said to Tony, or even that he left (stormed out, more like it), but that he didn’t text before he went to bed. He’s sure Tony needed his support more than Peter needed to wallow in his anger. 

He takes the new batch of experimental pastries downstairs and catches sight of his aunt waving at Mr. Wesson. Damn, he must have been the guy Toomes was referring to. Like Peter doesn’t have enough on his plate today. 

“Uh, is everything okay?” he asks. 

May is distracted with the order of a senior Peter makes sure to smile at, so he clarifies, “What did Mr. Wesson want? Everything alright at the self-help center?”

“Oh, yes, it’s nothing important, sweetie. He was just following up on something.” 

“Okay…”

Peter watches his aunt closely while filling the basket and changing the chalk writing on the sign next to it, but he can’t see anything wrong, not exactly. May’s smile is no less or more artificial as it’s been for two years. She’s sleeping enough, Peter knows she is, and he made sure to grab the Wednesday shift so she can go to group –

“But let’s talk about you, Mister.” 

Peter’s arm slips off the counter. “M-Me?”

“Yes, you.” May waits until he’s facing her before asking, “Why did Eugene say you weren’t at school yesterday?”

“Wha– Flash? How’d that even come up?”

“Don’t change the subject, Peter. Is it true? You skipped school? I thought you were going to ‘meet up’ with your boyfriend,” May goes on, air quotes and all. 

Peters mind blanks out for a horrible second – his note, shit, what was he thinking?! – but it’s back online a heartbeat later. 

“I was, I mean, I was headed to him, but I, I, uh, I bumped into an old lady – she was lost and couldn’t remember where she lived and I couldn’t just leave her wandering to ma- uh, to, to meet up with not-my-boyfriend, and it got really late… She bought me a churro, so that was nice? And uh, I got her back to her home eventually. That care facility up on 32nd? I called the school and I meant to tell you, I really did, but, uh, I got caught up in homework and you only came home after I’d gone to bed and, uh, yeah. Sorry.” 

He bides his time, fidgeting behind the glass case, waiting for her reaction. As expected, she pulls him into a hug with a, “That’s my boy,” though her fondness isn’t as heart-felt as he hoped. 

Shit. The last thing he needs is for May to watch him like a hawk on his birthday.

“Mr. Stark!” 

Think of the devil… or rather, the devilishly handsome not-his-boyfriend-either who’s taking off his sunglasses (because Tony Stark can apparently wear sunglasses in February) and giving them one of his fake I-know-there’s-cameras-pointed-at-me smiles. 

“Don’t let me interrupt, I see that’s some quality family time.” 

“Not at all, Mr. Stark,” May smiles easily. “What can we get our favorite customer?”

“I doubt I’d win that title,” is Tony’s suave reply. Or suave on the surface, at least – he’s not looking at Peter, which gives him a chance to at least somewhat school his features, but it still sounds like it’s addressed to him. 

And he hates that he can’t be sincere right now, not to the sound effects of several camera phone shutters. 

“Let’s spice things up a bit,” Tony continues with a grin. “What do ya recommend, kid?” 

Peter wants to snap something, he really does, about how Tony can tease like that with May _right there_ , or about how he can look like he didn’t spend several hours fighting off flashbacks yesterday… but they’re in the middle of a coffee shop. 

Never mind that there’s, well, maybe not an _apology_ in Tony’s eyes but at least a softness to his smirk that no one except Peter will notice, and which affects him despite the strong pulse of anger he can still feel underneath his skin. 

So yeah, he doesn’t snap. Instead, he offers a consolatory, “We have a mango cayenne blend that’s new?”

Tony’s smile doesn’t waver. “Huh, alright, why not. But a small one, just in case it’s undrinka– oh, and what are these?”

“There’s a sign,” Peter deadpans. 

“Sure, but it can’t possibly be right. Who the hell makes ‘Meatloaf Muffins with Mash Potato Frosting’?” 

“The baker you hired for Stark Industry’s cafeteria?” 

“Nah, just for meetings... You mean that’s what goes on in his head when he’s left to his own devices? Jeez... Ah, what the hell, you only live once, don’t you? Add one of those. You got a free table for me?”

“Of course,” May says. 

“Splendid.” Tony motions towards the first floor and turns until Peter stops him.

“Um, Tony?”

Tony spins on his heels, three-piece suit under his jacket and one hand in his pant pockets, which Peter – grudgingly – can’t describe as anything other than captivatingly graceful. 

“Um, these are for taste testers so you’ll need to, to, uh, complete the questionnaire? After you ate it, obviously! But, um, I can’t sell you one if you don’t... you know.” 

Tony blinks. “That’s a lotta hassle for a muffin, kid. Surely you can make an exception. Tell Toomes I said hi.”

A beat. 

“Sorry, no,” Peter says. “If we start with you, where will we stop?”

It’s only after he said it that he realizes he’s basically throwing Tony’s own words back in his face. Now that they’re out, though, Peter finds he means them with every fiber of his being, even if it hurts to see a dark shadow flicker over Tony’s expression. 

A moment passes between them. It’s got to seem really weird to the handful of onlookers, some of which are holding their breath as far as Peter can tell. 

Then Tony forces his shoulders to relax and gives a laugh. “Touché, kid. I deserve that. I’ll play lab rat. Now, may I...?” 

He tilts his head towards the first floor and Peter nods, unable to muster a smile.

When he makes it upstairs, balancing the mango cayenne blend on a tray along with the muffin and a small card that holds the QR code to the survey, he finds Tony aiming his ‘Go away now, crazy person’ grin at Chet. 

Right, they hired him despite the fact that he’s a self-proclaimed Tony Stark fanboy. 

Thankfully, Tony’s presence has attracted more customers for the first floor, meaning Peter can shoo Chet off to work the counter. 

This also means that there’s not even a sliver of privacy Peter can use to say something real – not that it stops Tony from furtively brushing Peter’s fingers as he makes to set down the dishes on the coffee table.

Peter almost drops the mug of mango cayenne blend, which gives the anger under his skin new life but it’s kinda, uh, hard to fight against the wave of arousal that comes with the, well… the caress. He feels Tony’s eyes on him but doesn’t dare meet them before rushing to his colleague’s side cause he’s getting swamped, where he almost trips over Toomes.

“Ripped a button,” the baker grouses, rummaging through the drawer that holds chalk and pens. “You got a safety pin in this fucking place?”

“Uh, try the office…?” Peter suggests, but he can’t dwell on it since Chet’s making these harried ‘help me’ sounds that he calls subtle.

Fifteen minutes later, Peter’s sprinkling caramel shavings on a hot chocolate with whipped cream for a junior associate at one of the law firms nearby (and doesn’t that just make Peter glad he’s never considered law school) when familiar feet step up to the counter. 

Peter pointedly doesn’t look at Tony leaning against the glass case as he presents the finished concoction to the young guy, which might be why Tony feels compelled to comment. 

“Wow, that’s a lot of sugar.”

The associate startles but manages to keep his cool. “Got to keep my motivation up somehow.” 

“If you feel the need to ruin your body with diabetes, you’re at the wrong firm.” 

There’s something about the way Tony’s voice curls around ‘your body’ that sets Peter’s teeth on edge. It’s only when the sees the associate angle his torso towards Tony and wet his lips as he blinks through his lashes that he realizes why. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” 

The guy’s a few inches taller than Tony but lithe, probably from pulling all-nighters at whatever faceless entity he sold his soul to. He’s also got smooth olive skin and a suit that’s clearly fitted, if not tailored. 

“Good thing there’s no shortage of legal departments in this town then, is there?” Tony jokes. “You got a card?”

Rather than reply, the associate reaches into his breast pocket and produces a sleek case holding his business cards, which he hands to Tony with a hopeful expression.

“Good. Now I’ll be able to confirm your story when Legal asks me if this applicant’s lying about meeting me in a coffee shop.” 

The guy nods, then adds with a smirk, “My number’s also on there. In case you ever need a second opinion.”

Peter has never been so tempted to throw a hot beverage in someone’s face, though before he can decide which one of the two men he’d be aiming for, the associate has sauntered off, leaving a fiver behind.

Tony’s smirk vanishes. “Gawd, what a slime ball.”

Peter snorts but holds his tongue – also about the fact that Tony didn’t put his used dishes into the bussing station that’s literally _two meters_ from his table. Instead, he just stalks towards the items and clears them off the coffee table himself. 

“Didn’t even leave a tip, did he? Well, he’ll fit right in with our bloodhounds…”

“You mean you’ll hire him?” Peter blurts. “You can’t be serious.”

Tony shrugs, hands back in the pockets of his dress pants. “That’s for Larry to decide. Speaking of whom, there’s some forms for you to sign. And the machine in the workshop’s acting up, might need some maintenance. Think you can spare a couple of minutes after your shift?” 

If they weren’t the center of everyone’s less-than-covert glances, Peter would have told Tony no. He imagines it for a moment, the gratification of refusing… but then his mind supplies tweets and headlines and Dow Jones statistics (yeah, he did some research last night on his phone) and, well. He’d be fooling everyone, including himself, if he said that’d be worth it. 

So all he does is nod and promise he’ll drop by. 

Tony’s answering smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Great. Now give me some real coffee.”

*

Tony spends the rest of the afternoon and evening with the distinct feeling that he made things worse. 

Wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary, though. He’s been wondering when Peter and he would hit the first serious bump in the road. If past experience has taught Tony anything, it’s that the ways he can screw up even something as simple as a mutually satisfying sexual arrangement are infinite. And inevitable. 

When the kid finally arrives, Tony can read his emotions in every line of his face. Peter’s hurt and angry, but there’s also an undercurrent of something else – regret, maybe? – which gives Tony a clammy feeling. Is this the end already? 

“Hey, kid.”

Peter leaves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You said you had some forms?” 

_Ouch._

“Yeah, just a formality… Pepper saw you – us, that is. Yesterday.” 

He watches as recognition flickers over Peter’s face. So he saw her, too? Why didn’t he say anything? Tony’s not a fucking damsel who needs protecting. 

“So now she wants you to sign a retroactive NDA to ensure you won’t sell company secrets to our competitors.”

“Wha– I’d never do that, Tony!”

“Hey, that’s what I told her – but she insisted. She doesn’t know you like I do.”

A fraction of the anger bleeds from Peter’s shoulders, yet it doesn’t vanish as he signs the forms Larry prepared for him. In triplicate. Ugh, Tony hates bureaucracy… He should really look into world domination soon. That would totally simplify his life. 

“Tony?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if I should look at the machine now?”

“Oh, that, that was just a lie to get you here.”

Peter swallows. “To, uh, to sign an NDA.” 

“Uh, no, not just…” Tony trails off since anything he can think of saying next sounds incredibly sleazy. 

“Has the guy sent his CV yet?”

Tony shrugs. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“You seemed to care a great deal earlier,” Peter grumbles. For the first time in ages, he sounds every bit the sixteen-year-old teenager he officially is. Tony would find it adorable if not for the context. 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, to keep up appearances. What’d you think the tabloids would say if I suddenly stopped flirting with people?” 

“Just flirting?”

Alarm bells go off in Tony’s head. That tone doesn’t bode well – he’s never heard so much repressed … whatever in Peter’s voice. Like it’s costing him everything to keep it together. 

“Sure… Where’s this going, kid?” 

Peter is silent for several seconds. He doesn’t meet Tony’s quizzical gaze but rather studies a spot on the workshop floor until he seems to have gathered his courage and looks up. 

“I think we need to talk about my birthday.”

Tony’s eyebrow rise. 

“I know what I want to happen and I know you want it, too, and so far we’ve been… I mean, you said you’re getting regular tests and I’m, uh – not at risk? So we’ve been… forgoing condoms and that’s fine but I think that, um, considering what we’re planning – it’s maybe best to talk about, uh, safety.”

Tony blinks. He feels like he’s missing half the puzzle pieces here. 

“You sayin’ you want us to use condoms?” 

Peter’s lips part but he doesn’t reply immediately. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks and his hands can’t seem to keep still.

“Uh, maybe? I-It’s just, um, I can’t be sure if you’re – I mean, how would I even know, if, um, you, uh… I mean, we never said we’d be… exclusive.” 

Ah, there’s the rub.

“Huh.” 

Tony didn’t see that coming. Or maybe he should have? As much as he’s relishing the ways Peter allows him to introduce him to sex, he’s never really thought about how that affects himself sleeping with other people. It just never came up, pun intended, since Tony’s been spending any free moment he’s had with Peter. Who, Tony guesses, read way too much into that. 

Yeah, emotional insight’s never been one of Tony’s strengths.

“It’s cool either way,” Peter says, in a tone that makes it abundantly clear that it’s not. He even adds a shrug that’s probably supposed to be nonchalant. “I just need to know if I should stock up on, uh, you know.”

Peter looks down again. Shuffles his feet. Bites his lip. 

Tony’s mind is blank. He should’ve managed to analyze the options and weigh the pros and cons of each within a heartbeat, but he finds that he… can’t. Cause the reply is already on the tip of his tongue. 

“Don’t.”

Peter’s head snaps up. His eyes widen. “What?”

“There’s no need. To stock up, I mean.” 

Tony doesn’t add ‘That’s my job’ or ‘I got plenty’. He doesn’t joke, doesn’t tease Peter, doesn’t wave the thing off as unimportant. Even though he probably should. 

What he does is meet Peter’s eyes and watch as the kid’s entire demeanor changes – gone is the repressed anger and the hurt, gone the rigidity of his posture. He’s half a second away from flinging himself at Tony by the looks of it, yet Peter aborts the movement at the last second and runs a hand through his hair instead. 

“O-okay, cool. That’s cool.”

Tony smothers a chuckle. “Uh-huh.” 

Silence falls. It’s, well… Yeah, it’s awkward. Tony’s feet won’t move and his throat is dry. It’s annoying. 

“Have you, uh, have you made progress with the Audi?” Peter ventures.

“Ah, nope. Been rushing through the latest reports. Totally forgot I’ll have to play CEO again for a bit – there’s a conference in Singapore this weekend and Pepper’s taking a few days off with Happy cause ‘it’s Valentine’s Day, Tony, and it’s been ages since we’ve been in Asia together’… That’s where they first kissed,” he adds at Peter’s questioning expression. “Some conference. Oh, wait – ah, now that makes sense, ha. It was the same conference.” 

That gets a laugh out of Peter and if the sound reverberates in Tony’s chest, well… no one needs to know.

“But she’ll return on the eighteenth and I’ll be back to my total lack of a fixed schedule on Monday…” 

He trails off pointedly. Peter’s lips curl into a smile, one of those infectious, loose ones that Tony’s come to think of whenever in a particularly boring meeting. 

“So, uh… I could drop by? I wouldn’t be getting in the way?”

Tony snorts. “Even if you did, kid, it’s my fucking company. If I say I got more important plans then I’ve got more important plans.”

“Oh, my, uh, my birthday’s not – I mean, it’s every year.”

Tony finally feels the moment is right to step closer. Standing this far apart when he could be right inside Peter’s personal space, sneaking his arms around the kid and delighting in the way his pupils dilate at the contact… yeah, that’s a disgrace. 

“It’s important to you, kid, so own up to it.”

“Uh, alrigh– ngh…” 

That’s how far Peter gets before Tony shuts him up with a kiss. 

*

**Two weeks later**

“Stop hovering, Bruce.”

“I’m not hovering.” 

“You’ve been standing there for forty-two seconds.” 

“I’m observing.”

“Observe something else, then.”

“All the other love-sick employees have gone home for the day, I’m afraid.”

Tony stops pulling threads out of the web fluid ball to give Bruce a flat look. “What?”

Yet Bruce isn’t amused like Tony expected. His eyes are fond where they’re taking in the mess covering the work station – Tony found pulling threads from the web fluid lump, which has been much more pliant ever since Peter had a go at it, is great for his concentration when trying to wrestle the StarkVision update into submission which – no, not the problem… Bruce is the problem, and the tension in his jaw.

Bruce produces a tablet and blows up the contents of a medical file into the space between them. “Does this look familiar to you?”

He’s pointing at a three-dimensional chemical structure model of a substance. Tony heaves a sigh and spares it a glance –

And promptly does a double take. 

“Is that… No, the conformation’s different and the catalytic domain’s all wrong – shit, that’s actually better. You wanna make this the first patent that we contr– wait, no, you’d never get _that_ through the FDA, even with our connections…” 

But this isn’t Bruce’s ‘I had another breakthrough’ face. Tony inspects the multinutrient protein more closely. Besides, the rest of the documents are medical records, not reports from R&D. 

“Whose file am I looking at?”

Bruce pulls the personal data from the pile of holographic items. “Test results from Marion Courduroux.” 

“Who?”

It amazing how Bruce can pointedly _not_ roll his eyes. “You had a meeting with her this week, Tony. Monsato, I believe?”

“Monsanto,” he corrects, his thoughts already galloping back to one of the slew of meetings and conference calls he hosted while Pepper’s been enjoying Singapore. “Right, she’s the CFO.”

Also the driving force between a potential merger and/or cooperation between Stark Industries and the agricultural company that’s careening towards bankruptcy due to abysmal weather conditions and even worse management. 

“She’s also severely ill,” Bruce says grimly. “Started as weakness in the muscles supplied by the cranial nerves. That’s the group of –”

“Twelve nerves controlling the eyes and the face, come on Bruce, I’ve signed off on enough fucking substances, I know what the cranial nerve is.”

Bruce pulls up a hospital chart. “Well, you’d never sign off on this.”

Tony skims the medical notes. Bless doctors for having to enter them digitally or else he’d have been lost in illegible scrawls. After some fun discoloration in the fingernails, a burning sensation in the throat, nose and eyes, hypotension, nausea and vomiting, apparently this version of one of Monsanto’s fertilizers causes muscle spasms followed by paralysis in humans.

“She went into repertory failure only forty-eight hours after the first symptoms appeared, which is when her physician reached out to us.”

“She, uh, she alive?” Tony remembers to ask. He’s not completely heartless, after all. 

Bruce scowls. “What’d you think I’ve been up to all day? And she’s…” He rubs the back of his neck. “She’s comatose. Reduced brain activity, organ failures… I’m afraid she’s a lost cause.”

“Oh, Bruce, I’m sorry,” Tony says, meaning it. He reaches out to place a hand on his friend’s arm and squeezes briefly before returning to the file. 

He can guess why Bruce brought this to his attention rather than head out for his usual Saturday night yoga class. 

“So… What’s the gist, doc?”

After clearing his throat, Bruce meets Tony’s arched eyebrow with a grim look. “As far as we’ve been able to determine, the mutagen was injected right into her bloodstream. And according to my analysis… there’s only one place that could have happened.”

“ _Jeezus._ ” 

“I checked with Security and there are three moments that Mrs. Courduroux conveniently happed to be in a CCTV blind spot –”

“Ugh, fucking pillars –”

“– and I’ve been going through everyone who worked that day to see if there’s anything unusual…”

The way Bruce trails off makes Tony’s veins fill with dread. “You mean?”

A nod. “Looks like we have a mole.” Another swipe of his fingers and two separate entries from SI’s employee directory appear. “Patricia Arquette and Sara Swartz –”

“That fucker has a _sister_?” Tony pulls the hologram closer and indeed, Sara Swartz is the fraternal twin of Samuel Swartz, the guy who threw the water bomb and who’s been hit with one hell of a law suit in return. 

Then he takes a closer look at her file. “Hang on – how come she hasn’t been questioned? Brother pulls a stunt like that, you’d think Happy would be all over her. Okay, that came out wrong…”

“Her name on file is Arquette.”

Tony takes a second to connect the dots. “Oh. Hm… A pair of radical environmentalist dykes… I think I’ve seen that porno.”

Bruce grimaces. “Could we not objectify the potential eco-terrorists, please?”

“Ugh, you’re no fun…”

“I forwarded this information to Security and they’re going to handle it delicately. If either of them – or both – are the mole, we better catch them in the act to pin it on them.”

He may sound like a broken record, but bless Bruce’s aptitude for problem solving.

One thing’s still bugging Tony, however. “Why escalate it like that, though? I mean I get the impulse, that place is fucking evil, seriously, impending doom couldn’t have happened to a more horrible company… Just seems a bit extreme to go from water bombing to fertilizer poisoning.”

“I asked JARVIS to look into it and, well…” 

Bruce lets the results speak for themselves. Right on cue, JARVIS projects a number of blog posts, videos and pictures that show Sara Swartz is quite the extremist. Seems like a tame YouTube channel wasn’t enough for her activism. 

Tony groans and lets his head roll back. “I don’t need this shit. Not this week. Or the next.”

“Of course,” Bruce drawls, “introducing a teenager to anal sex is much more important than corporate espionage and radical environmentalism.” 

Tony winces. Yeah, he deserved that. 

Silence stretches between them as Bruce collapses all holograms and Tony fiddles with some more web fluid. His mind’s already five steps ahead, thinking about system optimization or giving JARVIS more leeway in his monitoring permissions, privacy be damned, but part of his thoughts are also on Monday night and whether or not he’s got enough lube in the penthouse. 

“Hm.”

Bruce rarely hums. When he does, it usually spells a hell of a lot of discomfort for Tony, who refuses to look up from winding web fluid threads around the fingers of his left hand. Maybe they can market a less adhesive version as a toy? 

Bruce hums again. 

Tony expands to his right hand. 

A beat. Then… 

“You’re nervous.” 

Tony doesn’t look at Bruce. “I’m too old to get nervous.”

Another beat. 

“Then why did you scare R&D?”

Now Tony’s looking, cause “I didn’t scare –”

“You broke in and improved their prototypes in the middle of the night,” Bruce shoots back with a smirk. “And that when you had a conference call with China in the morning. Kevin said you almost caused a mass panic.”

“I can’t break in when my name’s on the door.”

“So you don’t deny you spent the night tinkering with dishwashers and fridges?”

Tony averts his gaze again. Damn it, he doesn’t blush. That’s Peter’s thing. He shrugs and returns his attention to the code projected into the air to his right. He’s supposed to improve the operating system of SI products, after all. 

“I was bored.”

“You couldn’t sleep.” 

“Same thing.”

He hears Bruce sigh and step closer. Uh-oh. Increased proximity usually means Bruce wants to have a Talk. 

“It’s perfectly okay to be nervous, Tony. It’s a big day.”

“Oh yeah, I’m glad Pepper’s back but the pressure that comes with no-CEO-ing is just…” Tony feigns a chocked-up swallow. He’d love to underscore it with a gesture but his hands are still sticking together. “It’s hard, you know, Bruce? Everyone expects me to have more and more revolutionary ideas. But I don’t have a ‘genius button’, you know?”

“Sometimes I’d contend myself with an off switch,” Bruce mutters yet there’s no heat in it. 

Relieved, Tony goes back to re-reading the potentially troublesome lines of code while testing the elasticity of the web fluid… but Bruce is already following him, closing the distance even further. 

“It’ll be alright, Tony. I take it the plan is for him to sneak out and come to the Tower after his party?”

Tony refuses to lift his head. “How the kid wants to spend his birthday is his decision.” 

“He gets to decide a lot more from now on.”

Tony shrugs, then steps away to where he left the bowl with the acetone-based solution he’s experimenting with and dunks his thoroughly-webbed hands into the thing. 

_Shit, that burns…_

“I’m not going to lie and say I support this, Tony,” Bruce tells him, cause of course the meddling bastard won’t back down, “but I’ve seen how much happier you’ve been since you’re together –” 

Tony twitches violently and almost jostles the bowl from the table cause, _what the hell?_

“– and that matters more than the legal risk involved. Pepper agrees, in fact, even if she’s not really, uh, showing it.”

Tony ignores him in favor of freeing his hands. Or trying to – apparently, he’ll need something stronger than acetone after all. Great, coming up with a way to easily dissolve this stuff is just what he needs… Wait, maybe he can just hand over that project to Peter? He’s the one who came up with a way to make the super-sticky stuff viable in the first place. 

“Tony.”

He finally huffs and turns, dripping acetone-water onto the floor which causes Dummy to wake from his slumber in the corner. “What? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“I’m certain your shareholders would love to know ‘busy’ means ‘playing with glue’ in your vernacular.” 

“Bite me. And hey, this is another industry waiting to be conquered! Besides, this was your idea.”

“… what?”

“Yeah, don’t you remember? Oh, you don’t, probably, you’ve had even more to drink than I had but I guess even tee-totallers need a cheat day, eh?”

“When did I – oh, no, no, Tony, not falling for it,” Bruce says and grabs both of Tony’s shoulders. He telegraphs his movements as he does, for which Tony is infinitely grateful, even if he’d never ever admit to it. 

Tony meets Bruce’s eyes with a long-suffering huff and stands his ground. There’s no need to talk. Or Talk. None whatsoever. 

By now, Bruce knows him well enough to see he’s not budging so he releases his shoulders with another soft squeeze and steps back. 

“I’ll be working until at least midnight, if not longer. Why don’t you join me for dinner in a bit? I’ll cook.”

It’s another trap, Tony’s sure, designed to make him feel safe only to then launch another talk-attempt… 

“I won’t try to take you away from your toys again,” Bruce adds then. “I promise.”

He sounds sincere but Tony can never tell the difference with Bruce. With Peter, he’d know even before he opened his mouth. Peter also wouldn’t stop pestering him – he’d be like a puppy with a delicious new bone, really – but Bruce has been known to respect his boundaries. At least when Tony’s not a danger to himself or others. 

Besides, Tony’s been too keyed up – uh, _busy_ , he means busy – to eat anything other than the smoothie Dummy made him this morning… so Bruce’s offer is probably worth the risk. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. 

The responding smile is also worth the risk. Bruce really needs to smile more – Tony should look into that. Maybe that way he’ll be able to pay Bruce back for all the motherhenning and sciencing –

“Science is not a verb, Tony.”

Tony jolts. “Was I…?”

Bruce nods, all somber and serious, but one moment later he laughs. “Don’t worry about me, Tony. You’ve done enough for me to merit a lifetime of motherhenning.”

Tony has no idea how to respond to that, so he just grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who turns 17 in the next chapter?! 
> 
> PS: I've always wanted a tattoo that symbolises fandom and now I HAVE ONE! ♥ It's been 6 weeks in the making... and you might be able to infer the meaning if you look at [this picture of it...](https://twitter.com/jays_lair/status/927457911068155904) *winks*


	17. seventeen

In a weird turn of events, Peter has suddenly become one of the cooler kids at Midtown Tech. 

Apparently, students dig it when you’re treating a billionaire just like any other customer – ever since a video of Peter standing his ground on the taste testing two weeks ago found its way to some of his classmates, there’ve been a lot less voices joining in with Flash’s favorite game whenever he sees Peter in the hallway. 

That’s not the only perk, though. He also isn’t tripped much anymore or called a loser for his Star Wars T-shirts. So this is what normal High School life can be like?

“ _Wrong!_ ” Flash barks, hitting the buzzer. “You’re such a loser, Parker.”

“Wha– no, it’s eighty-two times, I’m sure –”

“Guess you should be spending more time studying then,” Flash sneers and makes a show of reading the answer on the flash card. “The Gross National Income of Equatorial Guinea is _eighty-three_ times higher of Zimbabwe, the poorest SSA country in terms of GNI per –”

“I swear if you two don’t find a way to make this work I’m kicking you both off the team,” MJ snaps. She’s been observing them, aggressively chewing on her pencil and looking like she regrets the day she ever agreed to captaining their Decathlon team. 

“Not two weeks before the state championship, you won’t,” Flash points out. “Not when my Dad’s paying for the bus that’ll take us there.”

“Watch me.”

Peter slips down further in his seat. That icy tone means she’s dead serious. Now that he finally has the time for electives again, he doesn’t want to screw that up just because Flash can’t fit his vulnerable ego into the same room with him. 

He’d probably be even more insufferable if Peter had a personal Instagram account rather than just managing the _Hybrid Puppy_ ’s. People have been asking, but Peter’s glad he remembers to post new brews or specials every few days. 

Besides, Ned’s apparently made it his life’s purpose to supply the world with photos of Peter. It started as a joke in the wake of Peter’s elbow appearing on HBO, which is why he never did anything to stop his best friend… but now he sort of regrets that. 

“Who wants to see a photo of me as quiz master?” Peter wonders on their way out of the school building. 

“Everyone! Shows that you’re just a normal kid – your fans love that.”

“I don’t have fans, Ned. Can’t you just, uh, I mean…”

“Chill, dude. I’m linking back to the Avengers site so it’s for a good cause.”

Before Peter can make up his mind whether that makes up for having Tony tease him endlessly about his brief stint of local fame, Flash’s voice distracts him. 

“Ey, Parker!” he calls from across the parking lot where he just unlocked his father’s Audi. “Looks like you’re in trouble?”

Peter checks to see what he’s pointing at, sensing Ned and MJ next to him do the same. The other two relax when their eyes land on Steve leaning against his NYPD cruiser, but Peter’s stomach jolts. Steve’s in uniform (since he traded shifts to be free for the birthday party tomorrow) and that never bodes well… 

There’s a smile tugging at his lips though, so maybe it’s safe to stop imagining worst case scenarios. 

“Hey, Peter,” Steve says. “Need a lift?” 

MJ’s already pulling Ned forward and throwing a pointed “Later, loser!” over her shoulder, meaning Peter has no excuse to decline the offer. 

Which is how he ends up fidgeting in the shotgun seat of a NYPD car while Steve pulls into Manhattan traffic. 

“Is this about tomorrow?” Peter blurts when the silence gets unbearable. 

“In a way.”

“If you’re trying to get me to, uh, you know, not… then just, uh, don’t.”

Steve nods curtly. “I know.”

“Then why, uh…?”

Steve stops the car at a red light and reaches behind the passenger seat from where he retrieves a brown cardboard box which he deposits right in Peter’s lap, to his great confusion.

“I might not approve of your choices, Peter,” Steve says, “but the least I can do is make sure you’re not getting hurt.”

“Oh, uh,” Peter stammers, looking from the package to Steve and back. “That’s, uh, thanks, but I totally got this, I swear, I’ve done all the research and I’ve been practicing and –”

“It’s not about… that,” Steve interrupts. His face is starting to turn even redder than Peter’s own, which makes the situation all the more baffling. “It’s about – why don’t you just open the damn thing?”

The cussing startles a laugh out of Peter but his hands are already on the cardboard. It hasn’t been sealed in any way, so he’s opened the lid in no time to peer inside…

… and promptly makes an embarrassingly high-pitched noise cause _holy shit_ , “This is, this is awesome! Oh my god, they’re so expensive – I can’t accept that, Steve, it’s not even my birthday yet!”

Peter stares down at the gift again. It’s a high-end douche system, the one he’s been eyeing on Amazon, but he’s still working minimum wage and saving for stuff, so fifty bucks on something that a basic enema set would do just as well if used correctly has been a little too steep for his wallet. 

With a chuckle, Steve pulls to a stop a few yards from the _Hybrid Puppy_ ’s staff entrance and turns to face him. 

“I figured it’d be a bit awkward to give it to you tomorrow at the party. Not to mention a bit late, I guess… This is an area of, well, preparation,” Steve explains, “where quality matters.”

The ‘I know what I’m talking about’ goes unsaid.

“And I doubt Mr. Stark remembered to talk to you about this?” Peter’s expression must be answer enough, for Steve continues, “Then please accept this, Peter. I’m not saying I’ll be sleeping easier from here on out, but… Well. At least I know you’re not subjecting yourself – or others – to unnecessary risk.” 

Peter feels an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. “Uh, that’s, uh… thank you, Steve.”

*

February 19th dawns on clear blue skies and a babbling Ned who’s talking Bradley’s ear off when Tony emerges from the elevator only a couple of minutes after 7am. 

“… and now we’re expanding the scene with another Naboo Starfighter and a Destroyer – it’s gonna be epic!”

The guard turns a page in today’s _New York Times_ and greets Tony with a tired nod, which alerts Ned to his arrival and prompts some drawn-out yet amusing stammering. Presenting the box holding Peter’s brand new laptop manages to staunch the flood of words, however. 

For about two seconds, that is. 

“Ohhh, thank you, we won’t even need to wrap it, it looks so, so, so shiny!” 

Ned accepts the box with the sort of reverent touch that still make Tony preen in the privacy of his own mind. To think that his tech inspires such awe is… _awesome_ , as Peter would say. 

“And this is really just the basic model, no customization or whatever, right? Cause he’d notice and I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable, not on his birthday.”

 _You and me both, Ned,_ Tony resolutely doesn’t say. 

Instead, he swears on the Millennium Falcon that he didn’t add any customized upgrades to the laptop and Ned seems to believe him – ha, the innocence of youth – though he might just be too distracted with almost hyperventilating. Seriously, all Tony did was offer to have a car drive him back to Queens so he can drop off the present at the _Hybrid Puppy_ and still make it to school on time with Peter none the wiser. 

Tony’s own present, meanwhile, was a source of perpetual frustration. 

He’d give Peter an island if he thought the kid would be able to enjoy it. Yet anything more expensive than a cupcake would probably induce some form of working-class guilt. 

To think that Peter spent all these past months of their acquaintance stubbornly patching up the old brick of a machine that he calls a computer in his room – Ned showed him a picture of something so horribly outdated that Tony needed two glasses of scotch just to settle his stomach again – makes Tony glad he doesn’t have much of a spine. 

But anyway, an island is out of the question. A car’s gotta wait until Tony found a way to convert arc reactor technology into an engine and a scholarship or something would probably just come across as charity. 

So Tony settled on a StarkPhone. 

Now he only has to wait another twelve hours to give it to Peter. 

Yeah. Tony has so much to do, those hours will just fly by. 

Seriously. 

No problem at all. 

*

“Parker, if you don’t shut that fucking laptop now, I’m gonna take back your cake and eat it all by myself.”

It takes Peter a moment to tear his eyes away from the beautiful lines of the StarkBook’s – _his_ StarkBook’s, _oh my god_ – desktop interface and check whether Toomes looks as serious as he sounds. 

Yup, he does. 

Peter shuts the laptop with a sheepish grin. “Sorry – but this is so awesome!”

The baker rolls his eyes and accepts the cake knife from May, who watches with an amused expression. 

“It’s an overpriced piece of metal, that’s what it is,” Toomes grouses. “It got blueberry? Nah. But this does.”

That finally makes Peter move away from the table he unboxed the StarkBook on and re-join the rest of his guests.

Along with his aunt, Ned, MJ and Toomes, he invited half the Decathlon team, his gymnastics buddies, as well as the Neighborhood Avengers. Sam and Nat are deep in conversation with MJ while Clint’s leaning against the railing of the first floor where they’ve pushed tables together to hold everyone, guarding the cooler holding the beer Peter’s not old enough to drink yet. 

Not that he cares – he’s old enough for other things now. 

“Earth to Peter.”

“Huh?”

May grins, holding out the plate of blueberry cake with vanilla crème which Peter hastily accepts. It’s even more delicious than he expected so all he manages is a muffled moan around his fork as praise that has Toomes wrinkle his nose at him. 

“Jesus Christ, Parker, save those noises for the bedroom.” 

Peter sputters. Across the table, Bucky chokes on his beer. 

“Don’t encourage him,” May say, “we’re sharing a wall.”

“Your bad,” Toomes snarks back, then arches an eyebrow at Peter. “Speaking of – where’s your sugar daddy? Surprised he’d want to miss this.”

Bucky, who just recovered the ability to breathe again, promptly loses it in a fit of giggles. Ned, however, turns big eyes on him. “Man, yeah! I could’ve totally invited him when I picked up your present!”

“It’s uh, it’s fine,” Peter stutters. “I mean, he’s probably busy. He’s Tony Stark. He’s got better things to do.” 

“You okay there, Barnes?” Toomes asks, cause Bucky’s wheezing suddenly gives way to a violent cough. 

“Just the wrong pipe,” Steve explains, rubbing his fiancé’s back with an annoyed scowl that only Peter knows the meaning of. 

“Always told ya, don’t inhale them.”

“Ha, you’re a funny man, Toomes.” Bucky draws a shaky breath, still grinning. “Real comic relief here, sir. You’re a role model for the likes of me.”

Peter must be missing something since both Clint and Sam are trying to stifle their laughter and even Nat’s lips are twitching. He checks with Ned and MJ but both are too distracted by the cake in front of them, as are the rest of his classmates. 

“Great sense of humor, _and_ he bakes! I’m serious, Toomes, it’s a pity you’re even straighter than Wilson cause you’d be a catch!”

“What am I, then?” Steve wonders, but his tone’s indulgent instead of angry, “A consolation prize?” 

Bucky obviously didn’t think that through judging by his deer-in-the-headlights expression, yet before he can launch an attempt to salvage the situation, Toomes chucks a blueberry at him. It hits Bucky right in the forehead where it leaves an impressive blue stain.

“Ey!” 

Bucky’s indignation rolls right off Toomes. “Flattery ain’t gonna get you that friends discount.”

“What?! Oh come on, what the hell’s a guy gotta do to get in your good books?”

Ah, now it all slots into place – the wedding date is approaching and apparently Toomes’s quote for his sweet delights was steeper than Bucky and Steve expected. 

“Hmm, have you ever considered you’re trying too hard?” MJ asks. 

“Me? Never!”

“Yes, love, moderation is your middle name,” Steve says, earning himself an elbow to the side from his fiancé, who then throws his hands up in exaggerated defeat. 

“Fine! Rob us of our last dime, why don’t you... It’s only our wedding. It’s worth taking on debt for the most beautiful day of your life.”

Peter can tell what Bucky’s aiming for… but all Toomes does is give him a pitying smirk. 

Bucky wipes an imagined tear from his cheek and sniffs. Then, like flicking a switch, he jumps to his feet and points at Peter, who almost drops his fork in surprise. 

“That reminds me – I got you another present!”

Peter’s apprehension grows when he notices that even Steve looks mystified. Bucky returns and holds out a small, rectangular gift that Peter handles like he might a bomb under everybody’s curious gazes.

It’s a pack of condoms. 

“No Sweet Seventeen’s complete without them,” is Bucky’s explanation, accompanied by a meaningful eyebrow wriggle. 

His classmates snigger as May ruffles Bucky’s hair and Toomes dives into another verbal assault, but Peter’s too busy blushing, yet not out of embarrassment since, as thoughtful as the gesture is, Peter won’t need them tonight. 

Or any night thereafter. 

“Uh, oh, um – thanks?” Peter pretends to be flustered and almost everyone seems convinced. 

Only Steve’s eyes linger on Peter for a few moments longer than he’d like, so later, when the party disperses cause it’s still a Monday and people have work or school tomorrow, Peter pointedly pockets the condoms where the cop can see. 

Back home, May pauses on her way to the bathroom to pull him into another hug. 

“Did you have fun?” she whispers in his hair and Peter nods. “Good. I love you, Peter. You know that, right?”

He pulls back, surprised. “Of course! I love you, too, May. Is everything okay?”

She nods, still smiling, and brushes a lock of hair from his forehead. 

It’s… well, not exactly weird, but not exactly normal behavior on her part either. _Damn._ With all that’s been going on, Peter hasn’t been paying as much attention to his aunt as he now thinks he should have… He vows to change that, just to be on the safe side, then stows away his presents in his room while he waits for his aunt to finish brushing her teeth. 

Today, the fact that he always showers at night is a blessing cause May’s so used to the noise of the pipes that she falls asleep on the sofa in front of the TV and doesn’t notice Peter’s in there much longer than usual. 

Or that he dons jeans and the new tee she bought him instead of his pajamas.

Or that he sneaks out the door at 10:30 pm. 

Or that he’s a ball of pent-up arousal and nerves when he does so. 

*

Tony spends the day and evening being a responsible adult – there’s a mole at his company after all, and damn it, they’re still not entirely out of the dog house regarding City Waters and KAREN. But no one’s been killed by the AI in their shower so far, so that helps. 

It’s not that Tony’s nervous – he truly isn’t. 

It’s just, well… He’s never been anyone’s first, as least not knowingly. Can’t even recall either of his own first times given the haze of booze and whatever designer drugs were en vogue back then… and Peter deserves better than that. 

The kid deserves to think back on losing his virginity with nostalgic fondness for the rest of his life. Tony wants to always be there at the back of his mind, wants every future partner to be measured against him and heck, maybe it’s a pride thing but it’s for Peter’s benefit, too, so Tony doesn’t feel overly bad about it. 

During bursts of productivity, JARVIS keep him appraised of the situation at the _Hybrid Puppy_ – including Peter’s levels of incoherency at the sight of his new laptop – until it’s time to shower and check if the penthouse is presentable enough. 

“Would you like to put up candles, sir?”

“What, why would I do that?”

“I believe it is to ‘set the mood’.”

“Do I even own candles?”

“No, sir.”

Tony snorts. “Then why’d you suggest it, buddy?”

“My analysis of popular culture and material on the subject revealed this is a wide-spread custom.”

“Guess you’ll have to figure out how to get there with the lights we got.”

Obviously, JARVIS does a wonderful job at it that Tony praises from where he flopped down on the sofa to play with some schematics while his hair is drying. He’s in cotton pants and a maroon long-sleeve Tony’s quite fond of and which he hopes the kid will enjoy tearing off him…

“I got a StarkBook!” is the first thing Peter say when he steps off – or rather, _bounces off_ – the elevator twenty minutes later. “It’s so awesome! But it’s really just the basic model, right? It looks like the basic model but I didn’t have time to test it at the party, though there’s more music on there as I think should be and –”

“I’m surprised you were able to leave it behind,” Tony quips, getting to his feet. “And yeah, just the basic version…”

Peter raises his eyebrows, clearly dubious. 

“Well. I might have given it a onceover before handing it over to your BFF.”

Peter looks torn between indignation and abundant glee. Since it’s a StarkBook, glee wins out and Tony listens to the renewed barrage of swooning about the laptop’s specs that stop abruptly when Tony places his gift on the bar in Peter’s field of vision. 

The reaction, once Peter’s brain is back online, is exactly how Tony imagined it: the kid gives a delighted shout that morphs into a stream of ‘thank you’s and ‘this is so awesome’ paired with ‘this is too much, I can’t accept it’s that Tony listens to patiently until the kid runs out of air. 

“You done? Cause I gotta walk you through the set-up before you’re able to take so much as a photo.”

“Why would you – oh gawd, did you, did you, did you upgrade this?!”

The way Peter positively vibrates next to him is very distracting, especially since they’re only a few steps away from the bedroom, but Tony manages to highlight the improved features, including access to the beta version of the hologram software Tony’s been playing with for his smartphones and some other little things. 

Peter’s been grinning from ear to ear for so long, Tony worries his face’ll get stuck that way. 

“So you’re basically making me a beta tester? Is this revenge for the muffin? Cause we get new ones every day and I’m the right demographic, I think, so if there’s anything else –”

“Duly noted,” Tony cuts him off with a smirk. To be honest, he didn’t include those features to get Peter’s opinion, but if that’s what the kid wants believe Tony will be the last to correct his assumptions.

He pours them both some water at the bar cause he doesn’t really know what to do with his hands other than pull Peter close and shut up the tech babble that’s both extremely hot and incredibly amusing. 

He pushes one of the glasses towards Peter and casually leans against the counter next to the kid until Peter finally seems to realize why Tony’s chest is shaking with suppressed laughter. 

“Oh my gawd, why am I telling you this, of course you know how awesome it is; you designed it and built it and –” Peter cuts himself off abruptly. “Sorry,” he says. “Maybe I’m, uh, a bit nervous?”

“You don’t say,” Tony drawls, then draws closer to Peter so they’re facing one another. “But it’s always great to see my tech gets people going like that…”

There’s enough innuendo in his voice to drown both of them and Peter blushes in the most delightful way, biting his lip and averting his gaze. 

Tony clears his throat. “For the record, Peter? We don’t have to do this tonight.”

Peter’s eyes are on his a split second later. “Wha– No, no, I…” 

He takes a deep breath and the small step towards Tony that is needed to close the distance between them. 

“I want you to be my first.”

The statement goes straight to Tony‘s groin. He opens his mouth but Peter, apparently, isn’t done yet.

“And I know that it’s fine to change my mind, even if we’re already right in the middle, and that we can stop at any time and I know that it might hurt but I’m ready, I swear.”

The latter has a defiant ring to it that makes Tony suspect the little speech was more bravado than substance, yet he decides to let it pass.

“I was gonna suggest we move this show to the bedroom, is all,” he says, pulling Peter closer by the belt loops of his jeans. “But good to know you’re the new poster boy for enthusiastic consent.”

“Oh. Uh, I, um…” Peter flushes and flails in a way that’s so adorably him that Tony can’t not swoop in for a kiss. 

He’d intended for it to be a short one but since this is them and there’s no rush, it devolves into a thorough make-out session that sends Tony’s pulse skyward and seems to calm Peter’s nerves. 

_Good._ Tony wants him relaxed for what he’s planning.

Anticipation makes Tony steer them towards the bedroom and start pulling at the hem of Peter’s T-shirt (a brand new one, probably a birthday present from his aunt given the lack of any smart inscriptions or graphics). Peter’s breath hitches when Tony pulls it off along with the second layer, but that’s mostly due to the way he lets his fingernails scrape over Peter’s skin underneath.

Peter manages to undo Tony‘s belt at the second try – a new record – without breaking their kiss but has to pull back in order to tackle Tony‘s tee. 

The kid wasn’t lying about being ready. There’s no hesitation to his movements, no insecurity in his gaze, just an increasing haze of pleasure and lust when he shucks his pants and underwear moments after Tony did the same. 

They’ve been completely naked in each other’s company before, but the air between them has never been this charged. 

“I wanna try something,” Tony tells him before this has a chance to get awkward. “Lay down on your stomach.” 

Peter tilts his head but complies and Tony forgets his grand scheme for a minute cause he can’t stop staring at the sight of a very naked Peter getting comfortable on the new sheets Tony ordered. 

He’s admired Peter’s body in the past but there’d always been the necessity for restraint in the background. Not anymore, though – now he can finally look his fill, can trace the line of Peter’s spine down to the swell of his ass and damn, he can’t wait to follow it with his tongue...

“Uh.” Tension is sneaking back into the lines of Peter‘s back. “Now what?”

“Now, kid,” Tony says as he climbs onto the mattress, “now you relax and enjoy.”

“O-okay…”

Tony drapes himself over Peter, chest to back, knees resting on either side of his hips. He strokes Peter’s sides and watches him shiver.

“Trust me,” Tony whispers against his ear. “You’ll love this. Close your eyes for me.”

Peter obeys immediately, yet it takes a bit until he surrenders to the moment. When he does, his muscles grow pliant under Tony’s weight, and that’s a rush all in itself. 

Tony kisses the base of his neck as he shuffles back on the bed so that he can lick a way down Peter’s spine in one fluid motion. 

Peter’s curious, but also confused. Tony smirks against the skin of his butt cheek, biting down his comment. The time for puns has passed. 

He gently places his hands on either side of Peter’s ass, simply touching him, and watches the kid bury his face in the mattress with a soft moan. 

Oh, he’s seen nothing yet. 

Tony exposes him slowly, carefully, watches the small ring of muscle flutter in anticipation and feels Peter brace himself… but when it’s Tony’s lips that make contact with him, not his fingers, the kid whelps. 

“Relax,” Tony repeats. 

“How can I – you’re about to – are you sure?!”

“More than sure,” Tony confirms and spares a thought to the state of sex education at American High Schools since Peter shouldn’t sound this alarmed at what’s basically just another form of oral sex. “Hang on, let’s get you… here.”

Tony brandishes a pillow and helps Peter place it underneath his lower stomach. It pushes his butt out wonderfully and Tony dives back in with abandon. 

Peter’s tensed up again, blushing from his neck to the crown of his head as far as Tony can tell, and he gasps at every careful lick and swipe around his entrance. Tony takes his time – it’s been a while since he’s done this or since it’s been done to him, but he recalls the kick of slowly building pleasure and does his damnedest to recreate that now for Peter. 

Tonight, there’s an added thrill of ‘I’m allowed now’ that makes every move of his tongue that much more delectable. He alternates his licks with short, warm breaths that make Peter’s own hitch above him at the different sensations, then pushes without breaching him. 

Peter whimpers, then gasps when Tony traces a line down to his balls where he places a kiss before retracing his path and drawing circles with his tongue that make the lines of Peter’s back finally relax.

That’s when Tony dips his tongue inside.

“Oh…” Peter shudders. 

Tony’s position means a smirk would be lost on the kid, so he chuckles. The vibrations of it draw another happy sound from Peter, sounds that give way to more whimpers as Tony begins pulling his tongue out only to slip right back in again at increasing speed. 

Once Tony has found a rhythm, Peter’s hips start moving, too. He doubts the kid even notices that he’s rocking back into Tony – his eyes are closed and he’s making these little mewling sounds that send the rest of the blood in Tony’s brain down to his own cock. 

He changes things up again, pressing his lips to Peter’s opening and creating just the slightest amount of pressure to set the kid’s nerve endings on fire. 

“God, Tony,” Peter moans, burying his face in the pillow. His hips still as he rides the wave of pleasure. 

“Can you come on just my tongue?” Tony whispers against Peter’s ass. He keeps the pucker exposed and delights at the obscene wet gleam his ministrations have left behind. “I want you to, Peter.”

“Ngh…”

He takes that as a yes and licks his way back inside. Tony changes his grip so he has one hand free to stroke Peter’s perineum and balls, a sensation that has Peter’s knuckles whitening as he fists the sheets with a moan. 

He’s already close, Tony can tell. He pulls out until just the tip of his tongue is inside and presses his lips against the entrance, letting the rhythm of his breathing do the work. Peter’s hips jerk and never really stop then – desperation makes him chase the edge by rutting into the pillow and trying to fuck himself on Tony’s tongue. 

It’s incredibly hot and if Tony hadn’t already been more aroused than he was in recent memory, he would be getting there now. He pushes his tongue forward again, back into the tight heat that’ll soon be wrapped around his cock, and matches Peter’s thrusts. He needs both hands so he can push his tongue deeper, fuck into Peter harder to the rhythm of his moans until Peter’s orgasm crashes into him and leaves his entire body trembling. 

Tony rides it out, eyes wide open and erection throbbing between his legs. 

“That was, uh, gawd, that… you… I never…” Peter tries but ultimately gives up. 

Tony takes that as his cue to slide up on the bed to grin smugly at him. 

“Did I make you speechless? Is that what it takes?” he teases. “Gotta keep that in mind. ‘S not like it’s gonna be a hardship.”

Peter’s staring at him, slack-jawed and in awe, and Tony feels like the king of the world. 

Peter stages a kiss attack then, no inhibitions or reservations, just pure post-orgasmic want. 

The momentum pushes Tony onto his back and Peter’s hand travels down his chest, over the arc reactor and his stomach, eventually brushing Tony’s erection. Tony’s breath hitches – he hasn’t been this hard since age began chipping away at his sexual prowess – and Peter stills. Pulls back. His eyes are big and eager. 

“I want you inside me. Please.”

It’s the plea that takes Tony off guard. His responding quip comes a beat too late. 

“Such a polite young man. Who am I to refuse?” Tony rolls towards the nightstand to fetch the lube. “Guess we’ll have to retire the butt-but joke now, eh?”

“Let it rest in peace,” Peter says, sitting up. 

His tone is solemn but when Tony turns to him, there’s a smirk on his face. He’s pushed the pillow to the side and it’s a testament to how excited he is that he hasn’t even apologized for the wet spot he created. 

Peter loses some of his bravado when Tony pushes up to his knees and tosses the bottle of lube from hand to the other.

Before Tony can ask, though, Peter licks his lip and clears his throat. 

“I’d, uh. I’d like to see you.” He shifts, not waiting for an answer, and lies down on his back. 

“You sure?” Tony asks, cause he has to. “It’ll hurt more, no matter how good I’ll prep you.” 

“No, I, uh – I want to look at you.”

A smile tugs at Tony’s lips. “Alright. Let me?”

He motions with the lubricant but Peter’s already nodding. Moments later finds Tony kneeling between Peter’s parted legs, massaging his entrance with a heavily-coated finger. 

Peter tries to push down but Tony pulls his hand back. 

“Nah-uh, we’re gonna do this right, kid. You’ll thank me later.”

“Then get on with it,” Peter tells him, all youthful impatience.

“Yes, sir,” Tony laughs, and complies. 

He keeps his eyes fixed on the kid’s face the entire time. Peter might still be loose and relaxed from the rim job, but Tony meant what he said; they’re gonna do this right. His patience is wearing thin, however, because Peter’s lips have parted in a silent ‘oh’ and his position means he can watch Peter’s erection return slowly. Gawd, if this is how the kid reacts to Tony’s fingers…

Patience, though. 

Good thing that Tony’s always liked turning the prep into foreplay and Peter’s nipples are just begging him to play with them. It’s only when Peter’s completely distracted by Tony’s tongue on his chest that Tony crooks his fingers to rub Peter’s prostate. 

Peter yelps and jumps, eyes flying open. “Holy shit, do that again.”

Tony does, drawing a strangled moan from Peter. 

“And that, my dear,” he says, “is the –”

“Prostate, yeah, I know, I just – ngh…” Peter’ eyes flutter closed again. “I tried, but – ah – could never reach it on my own.”

All of a sudden Tony’s got a visual of Peter working himself open in that tiny room of his, trying to find that spot and stifling his sounds. 

“Oh yeah?” Tony prompts. “You think of me? Of me doing this?”

He underscores his question with another brush against Peter’s prostate. 

“Yeah,” he gasps. “Pretended it was you, every time I… First your fingers, then your – oh gawd, don’t stop.”

Tony’s now three-fingers-deep inside Peter and he’s gotta be feeling the stretch. 

It hits him then. 

This is really happening. 

They’re really doing this. 

Tony bites down a curse as his cock twitches in anticipation. 

“I’m ready, I’m ready, shit, Tony, please, just,” Peter begs, breathless but so full of conviction that Tony removes his fingers and reaches for the lube again. 

Peter props himself up on his elbows so he can watch. Tony catches him swallow when he places the lube next to them on the bed and moves in for another kiss because he doesn’t want Peter to see his hands shaking as he slicks up his erection. 

He breaks their kiss when he’s ready and meets Peter’s gaze with a silent question. The kid nods. Tony lines himself up and pushes the head of his cock against the entrance without breaching it. 

The muscles in Peter’s stomach quiver. 

Tony gives him a soft smile and watches Peter’s lips curl in response.

He leads from the hips, slow but insistent, watching Peter’s face the entire time. He’s never gone this slow entering anyone and it takes every ounce of Tony’s self-control, but it’s oh-so worth it. He pulls back just as gradually, pushes a little further on his next torturously slow thrust, and withdraws again. The lack of latex between them means every sensation is heightened, every movement adding to cascade of pleasure coursing through Tony’s veins. 

After an eternity, Tony feels his balls connect with bare skin. 

There’s pain written in Peter’s features and Tony hates that but it’s part of this. 

“Want me to pull out?” 

“No! No, I got this, okay, I… Hang on.”

Tony does, if only by a thread. Damn, the kid’s tight. Not giving into his urge to just hold Peter down and fuck into him might be the most difficult thing Tony has ever accomplished in the course of his rather extensive sexual history. 

Eventually, though, Peter gives his okay and he can start moving again. He keeps things slow, stops every time Peter winces, starts stroking Peter’s erection once it’s going down from the pain and can’t stop marveling at the fact that he’s the first person to ever do this to Peter. 

Tony’s the first to ever witness the pain giving way to pleasure, the first to feel Peter’s legs wrap around his waist and fingernails dig into his shoulders as Tony increases the pace of his thrusts. 

His lips find Peter’s and they share open-mouthed kisses between shallow jerks of his hips. It’s more intimate than Tony remembers sex can be, but then again he usually doesn’t feel someone’s chest against the arc reactor while he’s at it. 

Peter’s erection is trapped between their stomachs and beading precome against their skin, but it’s not enough – yet instead of telling him, Peter slides his hands down Tony’s spine and grabs his ass. 

“Ngh…” Tony’s hips stutter and find a new rhythm, one that punches a gasp out of Peter every time he thrusts into the incredible heat of his body.

Tony himself is getting close already, but he’ll be damned if he comes before the seventeen-year-old underneath him. Time for a change in tactics. 

Tony sneaks his arms around Peter’s middle and bottoms out on a particularly forceful push, then lifts while sitting back on his heels. Peter’s arms instinctively wrap around his neck even before his eyes open in surprise. 

When Tony’s cock hits Peter’s prostate on his next thrust, however, all questions die in Peter’s throat. 

The new angle draws a constant stream of pleas and gasps and moans from the kid and requires enough strain that Tony manages to keep his own orgasm at bay for the couple of minutes it takes to make Peter lose what’s left of his higher brain functions. 

“T-Tony,” he gasps.

“Come for me,” he whispers against Peter’s ear with a final thrust.

He holds Peter close as he spills himself all over Tony’s chest and stomach, clenching around Tony’s cock in a way that almost makes him lose the faint grip on his control. 

But Tony doesn’t. He rolls his hips deliberately – one, two, three times as Peter grows pliant against him. He feels the kid place a kiss on his shoulder and that’s the last thing he know before he gives in to his own climax. 

He doesn’t remember how they end up next to each other on their backs, both sweaty and spent, but Peter’s smiling at him in post-coital bliss, so that’s fine. 

“You okay, kid?” he asks, cause he has to. 

Peter nods. “More than.” 

He rolls onto his side, shuffling towards Tony as he does so, and tentatively huddles closer. Tony lifts his arms in silent permission for Peter to use his chest as a pillow. It’s awfully similar to cuddling, which Tony doesn’t do, but the sensation of Peter’s warm breath against the scars around the arc reactor feels too good to worry much about semantics. 

“Can we do that again?”

Tony blinks. Peter’s eyes are wide and sincere and his tone’s so eager that Tony can’t not kiss him. He’s not sure why, but once they’ve broken apart Tony puts a hand on Peter’s jaw, stroking his thumb along his cheekbone. It makes something happy and pure shine in Peter’s eyes. 

“Sure we can,” Tony whispers. “Nothing’s stopping us now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Peter :) Hope you enjoyed reading this!


	18. eighteen

Peter surveys the cafeteria but _damn_ , of course he spots Ned over at the south windows next to the last person Peter wants to share his lunch hour with. 

Alright. He can do this. 

All he’s got to do is act like it’s just another school day, and on any other Tuesday Peter would slide into the chair next to Ned and say hello to both him and MJ, then dig into his food. 

Too bad that every time Peter sits down he’s reminded how far, far away today is from normal. 

Well, and the mad grin on his face might not be helping either. 

MJ squints at him. “You’re weird today.”

“Just tired,” Peter says, which sets off Ned again. 

“So worth it, though, right? Dude, if I had a StarkBook, I’d never sleep again.”

“Oh no, I’ve seen your rendition of ‘tech-induced all-nighter’-tired, Parker,” MJ continues, pointing her fork at him. “I’ve seen ‘stayed up all night studying’-tired, and ‘didn’t leave the shop before midnight because of the misguided mystification of writing screenplays in coffee shops’-tired. I’ve never seen… whatever this is.”

Now even Ned’s blinking at him. “She’s right, dude. Hey, you know what this reminds me of? That time you stayed up all night talking to Liz, you know, after you’d already kissed but before she told you she’d be moving away with her mom?” Ned turns to MJ. “What’d you call that?”

The girl gives a thoughtful hum that fills Peter with dread and has him scrambling to find something – anything – to distract his best friends… oh, of course – 

“I got another present!” 

Okay, maybe that was a bit too loud. 

“What, from who?” Ned asks. 

Peter allows himself a smirk as he retrieves the brand new StarkPhone from his zip hoodie. 

“Oh my god!” is all Ned manages before snatching the device out of Peter’s hands. 

He turns to MJ to segue smoothly into another topic, only to grind to a halt when he sees her expression’s even more suspicious now. 

_Stupid move, Parker._

Just as she makes to say something, however, Flash materializes at their table. Before Peter’s stint of Twitter fame the sight would have drawn a few more stares but now barely anyone bats an eye. 

“Oh, I see you’ve joined us in this century, Parker,” Eugene teases. “Finally found a museum that took that ancient phone off your hands?”

“No, no, this is from Tony Stark personally!” Ned says, ignoring all of Peter’s ‘abort abort abort’ hand motions. 

“Yes, because a billionaire genius has nothing better to do than to dole out birthday gifts to _baristas_ ,” Flash sneers back without missing a beat. “Nice try, Leeds. So, Parker, listen. I face-timed with my father’s PA; we’re allowed to borrow his HoloCube and the company laptop with the upgraded GPU so we don’t have to use some ancient _beamer_ for the presentation –”

“But that’s ages away,” Peter points out and goes ignored, to no one’s surprise. 

“– and between your elbow’s fame and my Instagram followers, we’ll ace this project.”

Ned’s eyes are suddenly wide as saucers. “You’re partnering with _Flash_?!” 

“Under protest,” Peter grumbles. “The teacher assigned partners.” 

“You should have chosen drama, dude.”

Peter winces. He would have, but at the start of the school year he didn’t know Tony Stark would invest in the shop and that he’d actually have time for extensive electives again. So he’d chosen one of the less time-consuming art classes… 

“Once the teacher gives you your A+,” Flash says, “you’ll be grateful you got me. Other students would kill for that.”

“Themselves, you mean,” MJ remarks, in her usual dry tone. 

Peter laughs into his soda when Flash chooses to stalk off and pretend he didn’t hear rather than react. 

*

Two weeks later, Peter regrets not choosing drama even more, since it turns out that Flash takes art very, very seriously. All the teacher’s given them is a topic, the information that the entire course would host an exhibition at the end of the year, and the directive to “get creative and go nuts”. You’d almost think a self-proclaimed future real estate agent would consider anything beyond the bare minimum a wasted effort, but it’s almost like Flash’s enjoying this. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Parker,” Flash sniffs when Peter says as much. “The grade’s going to count towards my GPA. And I can practice handling holograms, which my father says is an art unto itself.”

Peter thinks he cracked a rib from trying his best not to laugh. 

“He’s totally right, kid! My software’s a thing of beauty,” Tony says in his most exuberant tone before grilling Peter on his thoughts regarding the usability of the HoloCube’s low-tier business model. 

“And I get that it’s important to choose a suitable font, but does he need to test out _every single setting_?” Peter whines. “There’s a lot of them.”

“You wanna upload a custom one instead?” Tony smirks at his horrified expression. “We got some great open-source ones on the website, does he know that? Maybe I should send an anonymous text –”

That’s as far as Tony gets before Peter shuts him up with a kiss. 

The extra work couldn’t come at a more unfortunate time cause Peter promised Bucky and Steve to create a unique blend of coffee specifically for their wedding and he’s struggling to find the time to do so much as brainstorm. 

“Save it for next weekend,” Tony whispers against his bare shoulder blade later that night, their hands intertwining on the hood of the Audi. “I can’t distract you when I’m out of town.” 

What he can do is distract Peter right now, apparently, cause Peter forgets to ask why when Tony slides a slick finger inside of him. 

It’s the newspapers that tell him the next day: _The end of secrecy? Tony Stark to meet with FBI about AI rumors._ Peter immediately picks up his phone. 

To: Tony Stark  
[06:43 AM]  
 _Good luck! Should I be worried?_

[06:44 AM]  
 _Nah, the AIC loves me. Focus on coffee, kid :P_

And Peter does, which is why Saturday night finds him on the first floor of _The Hybrid Puppy_ long after the last customers have left – including a new batch of annoying writers hogging their electricity and mainlining Fire Of Hell’s Kitchens with coconut milk. Peter thinks it’s a writers group. The stuff of nightmares, in his opinion. 

Or horror movies – but maybe that’s exactly what they’re writing. 

“Smells good.”

Peter almost jumps out of his skin but manages to keep the third runner-up from spilling out of the mug. 

“Can I try it?” 

Tony looks like he needs it; over-tired with disheveled hair from god-knows how many hours spent in interrogation rooms. He’s pulling off his tie to throw over the glass case behind Peter before zeroing in on the five cups lined up next to the coffee machine. 

“Not all of it, though. I still need to compare and choose,” Peter cautions which makes Tony perk up. “They’re for the wedding.”

“Oh, so I’m playing lab rat?”

“Uh, kind of? But, um, I can make you a –” Peter says but Tony waves him off and goes through the five blends at a staggering speed. “That bad?” 

“Worse,” Tony grunts from behind mug number three. “Also applies to this coffee, f-y-i, ugh, what the hell is that, peppermint?”

Peter nods and immediately strikes the blend from the shortlist. 

“Seriously, I think Agent Coulson’s secretly a robot, or some alien sleeper cell, cause there’s no way in hell that guy’s human.”

“He didn’t find anything, did he?” 

“Ha, like anyone could find JARVIS when he doesn’t want to be found. Na, but they’ve been digging through KAREN’s source code and demanding simple answers to complex questions on issues that’re so fucking beyond their little brains they don’t even realize it. At least they seem to be convinced for now that I’m not plotting world domination in the near future, so I got Coulson off my back for another few months, at least.”

Peter smiles. “That’s awesome!”

“So’s this,” Tony replies with a wink, lifting cup number five. “Any more where that came from?”

“Uh…” Peter turns to check his ingredient list. “If you give me ten minutes?”

Suddenly, Tony’s right behind him, lips so close to Peter’s right ear that he can feel warm breath on his neck. 

“I can think of several better things to do in ten minutes…”

Peter’s inclined to agree, especially when the first four of them are spent with Tony sucking hickeys into his skin and rolling his hips against Peter’s ass until they’re both hard as rock. 

Once the pressure in his work pants gets too much, Peter turns around and pulls Tony down into their first kiss in three days. It starts slow, with contented hums from Tony that make Peter’s heart flutter in his chest despite his resolution to stop getting so sappy over these things. 

It’s impossible, though, when every time they’ve gone all the way since Peter’s birthday Tony’s so conscious of treating Peter right, like he’s the most precious thing in the world. Peter’s read and heard epic tales of how good a lover Tony Stark is but to be on the receiving end of his touches, always ensuring Peter comes first, never just losing it in the heat of the moment… that’s both incredible and the most frustrating experience of Peter’s life. 

He wants Tony to forget he’s still only seventeen, wants Tony to grab him and not worry about leaving bruises, wants Tony to just freaking _take_ already instead of give all the time. 

So tonight, Peter decides to try something new. 

“No, stay,” he tells Tony when he wants to get up from where he’s been sprawled on one of the sofas with Peter straddling him. 

Tony cuts an awes– an _erotic_ picture like this: lips red from kissing, shirt unbuttoned and pants around his ankles with the belt still in the loops. The lights are low in the shop since Peter goes by smell when creating new blends and hates wasting energy, so the main source of light comes from the arc reactor. 

Peter shucks his own pants, shoes, socks and underwear, then resumes his position. He slips a hand into the breast pocket of Tony’s jacket, which is trapped between Tony’s back and the sofa, and grins triumphantly when his fingers close around a small packet of lube. 

Tony’s answering smile quickly glazes over as Peter works himself open, watching another bead of precome form at the tip of Tony’s erection. The smile vanishes completely when Peter shifts, intentions clear. 

“So you wanna do all the work today, kid?” Tony asks, voice a low rumble. 

All he can do is nod cause he’s busy lining up Tony’s cock with his entrance, then lowering himself as slowly as his patience will let him. 

The initial discomfort is still a thing, even after three weeks of regular, uh, practice with Tony, but it fades more and more quickly. The new position is great from the start, though – Peter’s never felt as powerful as he does now, riding Tony in the empty coffee shop, experimenting with rhythm and angle and what he can do with his hands to make Tony’s hip buck up on their own accord. 

Yet Peter still sees the restraint in every line of Tony’s body. Rotating his hips manages to break it for a moment and has Tony thrust into him, stroking his own cock in tandem with his movements gets a strangled moan and a few erratic thrusts but the threads of control never quite slip from Tony’s fingers in the build-up to their release. 

“Fuck, you’ve ruined this floor for me,” Tony says between gasps for breath after they’ve both collapsed in a heap of clothes and limbs. “I’ll never be able to order anything up here without getting hard again.”

“Uh, sorry not sorry?” 

“Ha, yeah, me neither,” Tony laughs into their kiss. 

After they cleaned themselves up in the staff bathroom, Peter starts another pot of the winning brew for both of them. 

“You know, Bruce has been pretty tight-lipped about this whole affair. I’m missing the party of the century, aren’t I?”

“Uh… Actually, Bucky’s been pestering Dr. Banner about inviting you.”

“Yeah, ri– oh, you’re serious. Why? I mean, obviously any party can be improved by inviting me,” Tony adds with a flourish, “but I’ve always heard these wedding things are for friends and family only.”

Peter blushes, but mostly from second-hand embarrassment. “Well, Bucky said he needs more loaded guests so he’ll get a Roomba, or whatever…”

Thankfully, all Tony does is throw his head back and laugh. It’s Peter’s favorite kind of laugh on top of that – clear and carefree, full of mirth and delight. 

“Dr. Banner’s been refusing to forward the invitation. And I think he’d be really cross if you came,” Peter hastens to add. “I mean, you don’t really know the couple, or at least, uh, publically. It would cause a lot of questions and the risk…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony agrees with a sigh. “Besides, I wouldn’t put it past Officer Rogers to punch me if I crashed his wedding day.”

Peter nods. It’s a definite possibility, that. Well, Tony would deserve it, too, but Peter keeps that thought to himself. 

Silence falls as they drink, interrupted only by the obscene sounds of approval that escape Tony at every other sip and fill Peter’s chest with pride. Hopefully his aunt will like it as well… 

“Woah, what’re you thinking about, kid? You just went from blissed out to blue in a second there.”

Peter blinks. “It’s, uh, it’s nothing.”

Tony merely arches an eyebrow. Of course Peter caves. 

“I mean, uh… Aunt May, she’s… She’s been giving more and more shifts to the others and she’s gone a lot but never where she says she is – like at the dentist, but she already went for her check-up in February. She _always_ goes in February, and I…”

“You’re worried.”

Peter shrugs, contemplating the contents of his mug and trying his best to project a calmness he hasn’t felt when it comes to May ever since that fateful day almost two years ago. 

Suddenly, shoes appear in his field of vision. 

When Peter meets Tony’s eyes, they’re soft and warm and Peter wants to live in them. 

“Okay, terrified, then,” Tony corrects. “Anything I can do to help? Want me to sic JARVIS on her, report back to you?”

It’s tempting, yet also a gross invasion of his aunt’s privacy. Peter wouldn’t want her to spy on him either, if she had the means, and find out about him and Tony that way.

His reasoning must be obvious from his expression since Tony raises his hands in surrender. 

“Fine, Mr. Righteous. But in case you ever change your mind, your phone’s got an uplink to JARVIS. Depending on his mood, he might even listen to you.”

Peter gapes, mouth hanging open unattractively but screw it, cause “What?!”

Tony smirks. “He’s not spying on you or anything, don’t get your apron in a twist – just seemed like a good idea, in case of emergencies. I can tell you about all the protocols in detail some other time if you want.”

Peter nods, still slack-jawed. When his voice decides to work again, what he says is, “I’m not wearing an apron anymore”, which breaks the moment better than a bucket of ice water could have. 

“Why’d you wear it to begin with?” Tony wonders once he’s stopped laughing. “That a fetish you never told me about?”

“No! Definitely not… I just, uh, I wear it when I’m creating new blends.”

“Hm, and how often is that? Can I subscribe to notifications?” 

Tony reaches for him and Peter goes more than willingly. He loves that he can just snake his arms around the other man for no other reason than to be close to him. 

“Well, I rarely plan it,” Peter admits. “Sure, I’m trying to do something special for big holidays or events, but even then it just sorta happens?”

“Guess I’m just gonna have to hire you to create one.”

“Please don’t make up holidays.”

“Why not? International Tony Stark Day’s got a nice ring to it, wouldn’t you say?”

“How’d you even go about making that a thing?” Peter wonders, which gives Tony pause as well.

“How about a university?” 

Peter stops any more ridiculous ideas with a kiss.

*

“Thanks for doing this, dude,” Peter says. “Just one more to go.” 

He fastens the last electrode to Aaron’s temple and checks the app on his phone – _his StarkPhone!_ – while Aaron shifts in his chair. The electrodes peppered along his head give him a peculiar look.

“Feels weird.” 

“Yeah, that’s the gel, sorry, we need it or else they wouldn’t lead a current...”

“Can’t be helped,” Flash adds. 

He’s been uncharacteristically quiet since Aaron showed up at the shop. They’re on the first floor near the back, spread out across two tables with their equipment. Or rather, Peter’s equipment cause Flash has two left thumbs when it comes to engineering and contended himself with bringing the laptop and HoloCube they’re borrowing from his father’s firm. 

“And this stuffs really gonna make me into a hologram?” 

Flash nods. “And then Parker here’s gonna work some magic and add you to the installation.” 

Said installation is still only a pile of pipes, but it’s going to be a labyrinth of tubes filled with differently colored water. It’ll be self-sustaining to keep water waste to a minimum, though it’s been impossible so far to marry the laws of physics with Flash’s artistic ideas about the design. 

His pretty decent ideas, in fact, though Peter wouldn’t ever dare say that out loud. He’s never seen Flash operate in anything but douchebag mode, yet the his class mate was positively _glowing_ when he explained to Peter that they’d add holograms of their interview partners to complement the installation instead of working with a single screen and playing them on a loop. 

“It suits the assignment,” Flash argued. “Pipes are basic but holograms will demonstrate the privilege aspect of the issue.”

Peter never expected Flash to be self-aware, or conscious of the fact that running water or access to food aren’t just staples of human existence... Seriously, this art project is messing with his world view. 

“You’re good to go,” Peter tells Aaron. 

They’re filming him with a special camera and the laptop’s software will join the footage with the motion capture electrodes and spew out a three-dimensional rendering for them to adjust size and position. Each clip of their different interview partners will appear when the water passes by the marker on the pipe labyrinth... It truly is awesome, if Peter’s being honest.

Aaron clears his throat and looks straight at the camera. “I scored a pretty sweet gig at a coffee shop. I clean every night and get free coffee when I come in. And when there’s leftover foods I get to take ’em home. I share them with my roomies, too. Neither of us could afford shit like that otherwise, so I’m really privileged.” 

The look of incredulity on Flash’s face would be hilarious if it weren’t so tragic. 

Peter grins. “Thanks again for doing this, dude.”

“Well, you were doing me a solid, actually. ‘T was good to got a reason to leave the house.” 

Alarm bells go off in Peter’s mind. “Oh?” he prompts.

“No, no, chill, man. Just, ya know. A danger day.” 

Peter catches Flash’s eyes narrow. He wonders what the other student sees, considering he never met homeless Aaron, only this more put-together version who’s been May’s first hire in December. 

“I thought you’d found a second job?”

Aaron shrugs. “Them shops don’t got endless space to clean neither. Gotta have a day off sometime.”

“Cocaine?” Flash asks suddenly. 

Peter makes to tell him to shut up, but Aaron’s already nodding.

“Clean since January,” he says, pride in his voice. “Eighty-nine days today.” 

“Impressive,” Flash says. “Have you considered volunteering?” His eyes dart to Peter and notices what’s bound to be the incredulity written all over his features. But all Flash does is square his shoulders and explain, “That’s what my father’s ex did. She joined the staff of a library. Low-risk environment. Helped her stay sober.” 

_Huh._ Peter tilts his head. Did he wake up in some parallel universe this morning? 

“Thanks, man,” Aaron says. “Appreciate it.”

Just as Peter thinks he’ll never find a way to interrupt the awkward moment, Aaron breaks into a smile, looking over Peter’s shoulder. 

“Mrs. Parker!”

On second thought, Peter wants the awkward moment back. 

He twists in his chair, pulse spiking. May said she’s going shopping with Azra, which usually takes an entire day – so why’s she back already? Did she really go? Or was that another one of her lies? 

May and Aaron exchange hugs and Aaron seizes the moment to escape, sending another grateful nod in Flash’s direction and completely unaware of Peter’s mental turmoil. 

“Looking good, boys,” May says, her voice heavy with sarcasm, nodding at the chaotic table. “You’ve made a lot of progress since I saw the pile in my kitchen this morning. You two must have been very focused on work.”

“May, what are you – I thought –”

“Azra had an emergency, sweetie, nothing bad, but I hate shopping alone. Hello, Eugene.”

“Hello, Miss Parker,” Flash replies smoothly. “Thank you for letting us use your shop for the interviews. We wouldn’t find as many volunteers if we had to work at my father’s firm.”

“Aren’t you a polite young man. Please, call me May,” she offers and Peter wants the ground to swallow him whole. 

Maybe this counts as an emergency? Would JARVIS know a way to save him? 

“Peter said you’re quite the artistic talent,” May continues, since apparently the universe hates him. 

Flash’s eyes light up. “Did he, now?” he sneers. 

“Yes, you’ve left quite the impression on him, Eugene. I’m so glad you’re both finally able to spend time together in public. You’ve been good for him.”

_No, no, no, no –_

“You better keep it that way, though,” May adds, her tone suddenly serious. “Remember I own a coffee machine that makes one heck of a scalding hot brew. I’m not afraid to use it.”

Peter finally dares to look at Flash, eyes wide with mortification but paralyzed to think of something, _anything_ to do to stop this train wreck. 

Flash merely nods, all solemn and sincere, and May returns downstairs to help with the post-lunch rush. 

Once she’s out of earshot, Flash immediately leans forward, hissing, “Why’d your aunt give me a shovel talk, Parker?”

“Uh…”

“Why does she think we’re together? Especially after the lengths you went to to assure me you’re not crushing on me – so you lied? Did you have Leeds hack Mrs. Rosenbury’s files to get me as a partner on this project?”

“No!” Peter finally manages. “No, I swear, Flash, this isn’t what it looks like, okay, I didn’t – partnering with you was a complete coincidence, Ned had nothing to do with it, I’m serious, dude!”

The desperate edge of Peter’s words seems to give Flash pause. Though instead of accepting it and just moving on, he purses his lips in contemplation, which fills Peter with a clammy sense of anticipation. He tends to forget how smart Flash is over how much of an asshole he can be. 

“I’m inclined to believe you, Parker. But then why didn’t you correct your aunt? Would have been the easiest thing in the world, a simple ‘We’re not together’. I’d have confirmed the story and all would be well. Unless…”

_Oh gawd._

“Unless you _want_ her to think I’m your boyfriend? I could understand the fantasy, I really could, but not after your little tantrum in the bathroom.”

Peter suddenly finds the multi-purpose tool he got for Christmas, and which Flash was really jealous of, immensely fascinating. 

Flash hums. “Am I a cover story?” 

Peter’s head snaps up before he can rein in his reaction. Flash’s eyes widen triumphantly. 

_Fuck._

“I am, aren’t I? Wow, that’s actually quite clever, Parker; didn’t think you had it in you. So you do have a boyfriend, but he’s not someone you want to meet the parents… Is he older? Is that it?”

Peter’d better say something to salvage this situation or he’s gonna be in a lot more trouble than he’s already in.

“Yes, yes, he’s a, um, he’s a student,” Peter blurts. “Older. I mean, not too much older, but it’d be, I mean, with everything that’s happened, I don’t want my aunt to worry or tell me I can’t see him, but she was suspicious and so I, uh, told her…”

“Told her it was me,” Flash finishes, leaning back in his chair again. “Well, you’ve got good taste in pretend boyfriends, I’ll give you that.”

Peter rolls his eyes. 

“I wouldn’t be so mean if I were you, Parker. One word from me and your entire ruse collapses. You’re a shitty liar, you wouldn’t be able to talk your way out of it if I told your aunt we’re not together.”

“Wha– no, no, you don’t need to, I mean, you’ll get free coffee,” Peter rushes to offer. “Don’t say anything, just,” he bites down the ‘please’ cause he’d rather expose the lie than outright _beg_.

“Free coffee? Ha, my silence’s worth more than your hipster coffee.”

“It’s not hipster!” Peter snaps. 

“So not the point, Parker.”

Peter huffs, crossing his arms. He’s backed into a corner with no way out. “So what is the point?”

Suddenly, Flash’s expression morphs from dead serious into a triumphant smirk. “You have connections. You can arrange favors.”

Peter swallows. “What, uh, what kind of favors?”

“I want a summer internship at Stark Industries. They rejected my application, but I didn’t want to get into the general High School student program anyway,” Flash says, but Peter doesn’t believe his grandeur for a second. 

SI’s the most sought-after firm when it comes to internships for High School students in New York, maybe even in the country since all Google or Facebook interns before college are allowed to do is get coffee. Well, unless they’re some kind of geniuses and in that case they’d already be headhunted and wouldn’t need to intern… 

Flash waits. Peter sighs. “What’d you want, then?” 

“Marketing,” is what Flash says. “I want a summer internship with the Stark Industries marketing department.”

Peter blinks. “SI has a real estate branch.”

Flash’s jaw clenches. “You heard what I said.”

“I… I’ll see what I can do?” Peter offers, cause what else can he say? “I don’t know anyone in the marketing department.”

They probably know of him, Peter realizes with a shock. He has no clue whether or not Pepper Potts took any measures after catching Tony and him in the workshop that one time, but either way, himself asking PR for a favor would raise all kinds of alarms at SI…

“You know Tony Stark, idiot. He’s the boss.”

“But…”

“Yeah, I remember your passionate speech in Econ, and no, I don’t care if this goes against your moral code, Parker,” Flash tells him. “Get me that internship and I’ll be the best fake boyfriend in front of your aunt you could wish for.”

Peter hates himself for even considering this, but… No, he can’t take the risk. Not for himself, not for Tony, and especially not for May’s mental health. 

That’s how he explains the situation later that night to his phone. JARVIS doesn’t give any indication that he is listening, but Peter’s familiar enough with the AI’s protocols to know he snaps to attention at the sound of his name. Whether or not he chooses to respond is another thing entirely. 

“I’m desperate here, Mr. JARVIS,” Peter finishes, “and I’m really sorry to bother you with this; I don’t wanna have to explain this to Tony but I’ve got to do _something_ , you see that, right? Cause if Flash tells my aunt then she’s gonna be really suspicious and she’ll put two and two together and I don’t know what she’ll do, please, Mr. JARVIS.”

Peter bites his lips then and stifles any more pleas. 

After an eternity, the phone screen blurs over in a red-and-gold hue. 

“I will handle the situation,” JARVIS says and Peter’s veins flood with relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really happy with this chapter, I have to say! I hope you will agree, dear readers =) You continue to be a bright light in this dark season, and I'm so glad to be able to share this story with you!


	19. nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the wedding day, wohooo! Freaking finally! *cheers* 
> 
> Merlenhiver and I have been excited about this chapter - or rather, what ended up becoming chapters 19 and 20 - for what feels like decades. And we can finally share this with you, yay! Buckle up and enjoy :)

Bruce collides with Bucky’s back as the man stops dead right in front of the door to the entrance hall.

“No,” Bucky gasps, “I can’t do this.” 

He paws at his collar and flees from the hallway yet Bruce is already moving after him, stopping Sam doing the same with a quick gesture. 

He finds Bucky in the office they turned into a changing room, unbuttoning his dress uniform with shaking hands. 

“I can’t do this, Bruce, I’m gonna screw this up, he’s gonna hate me, we’ll never make it –”

“Bucky,” Bruce grabs him by the shoulders and forces him around. It’s a relief when Bucky lets himself be manhandled – it means that Bruce still has a chance. “Do you remember what you said to me that night in Kandahar?” 

The other man purses his lips. A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I said a lot of things in Kandahar.” 

“You told me about your teenage dream,” Bruce clarifies, needlessly in his opinion since he can see the memory flare to life in Bucky’s eyes much like the flames from the burning oil fields did back then. “You told me about the moment you knew Steve was the one for you, that you’d been planning your proposal for years at that point. Anyone else would have died on me, Bucky, but you pulled through – for Steve. Don’t throw this away now, don’t lose your head today. You’ll see, it’s gonna be perfect.”

“No, no, it’s different, marriage changes things –”

“Bucky,” Bruce interrupts with a quiet vehemence to his tone. “You saved my life once, now let me return the favor. Put your dress blues back on, get yourself together, go out there and _marry that man_.”

Bucky stares at him, unblinking, throat working overtime. Bruce spots the exact second his best friend’s mind clears and Bruce can breathe again. 

“You saved me first,” Bucky pouts several moments later, surprising a laugh out of Bruce who waves it off. 

“Semantics. You can save me from the punch at the reception.”

The serious way that Bucky nods really does nothing to restore Bruce’s belief in the safety of said punch. 

When they emerge, Steve is standing next to Sam in the entrance hall of the Brooklyn community center. The open front doors provide a brilliant view of the sunny May day. The voices of the other guests, who’re patiently waiting outside where Sam is going to officiate the union, are but a faint murmur. From what Bruce saw before he was plunged into Bucky-wrangling, the Neighborhood Avengers really outdid themselves with preparing the center: every surface is sparkling both inside and out; stunning floral arrangements decorate the aisle and the hall where dinner will be served. 

Before that can happen, however, Bucky has some groveling to do.

From next to Steve, Natasha fixes Bucky with a glare. She cuts a dangerous figure in her Special Forces uniform and Bruce has to take a deep breath to soothe his spiking pulse. He knew it would be a highly triggering experience, being best man at a military wedding, but there’s literally nothing he wouldn’t do for the man who single-handedly broke him out of the Taliban’s clutches (Bruce’s knack for languages and talent as a field medic are more of a curse than a blessing, sometimes). 

Yet if anyone had told Bruce that he’d be talking Bucky down from doing a Julia Roberts impersonation at his own wedding, he’d have asked them to lay off the drugs. Or share them. 

The man in question walks up to his husband-to-be with a rueful expression. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. “I was being stupid… but Bruce got my head on straight again.”

Steve’s eyes dart to Bruce, who nods. “It’s a dirty job…” 

He trails off with a put-upon sigh and gets to see Bucky’s face light up again as he sings the rest of the line, off-key as usual. 

“But somebody’s gotta do it!”

Sam winces. “Damn, brother, good thing you don’t wanna serenade Steve today. He’d be the one doing the running.”

“Nah,” Steve says with the sappiest smile Bruce has ever witnessed in his life, “I like his singing.” 

“Then it’s gotta be true love.”

Everyone whips around – all except Natasha, who probably noticed the wedding crasher long before he decided to speak up. For the nth time, Bruce wonders if having that man in his life is payback for not dying in Afghanistan. 

It’s Tony. 

Of course it’s Tony. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bruce hisses as Steve looks from Tony to Bucky and the latter puts his hands up to profess his innocence. 

“I come bearing gifts,” he says, then whistles. 

A second later, a small machine appears in the doorway, which has Bucky cry out in delight. 

“A Roomba!”

“Yeah, I figured you’d enjoy the perks of my presence,” Tony drawls. “Couldn’t let the event of the season pass without me in attendance.”

“Bruce,” Steve growls, crossing his arms. 

“I didn’t invite him,” Bruce promises. “This is all on Tony, I swear.”

“Is it now,” Steve says. 

Tony meets Steve’s dark look straight on. He nods but doesn’t add anything to explain his presence – not that he needs to. 

Sam and Natasha obviously notice the mounting tension, though Bruce doubts they’re aware of the reason. Bucky should know, but he’s too busy cooing over a glorified vacuum cleaner. 

“Bucky,” Steve finally breaks the silence, “don’t get attached. We’re not keeping it.”

“What? Why?!”

“Because Mr. Stark isn’t staying.”

“That’s ridiculous, love,” Bucky hurries to say. “He’s come all the way to Brooklyn and even brought a gift, look how perfect it is, just look! Isn’t it adorable? I think it’s a she. Just wait, Stevie, you’ll love it as your own soon eno–”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Steve talks over him, “but you weren’t invited.”

“Would your fiancé confirm that?” Tony asks, prompting a shake of the head from Bucky and another growl from Steve. 

Natasha watches the entire exchange like it’s a particularly difficult puzzle. Sam just looks lost. 

“Maybe the second part of my present’s going to solve this.”

“There’s more?” Bucky grins at Steve. “There’s more!”

Steve remains suspicious, for obvious reasons. “You can’t buy your way into this wedding, Mr. Stark.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. And I’m not gonna retract my support if you actually turn me away, I swear.”

He falls silent. Steve’s jaw clenches. Bruce counts down the seconds until…

“What support?”

Tony grins. “I’m upgrading all dispatch centers in the Manhattan area, including Brooklyn. No more seniors dying of hypothermia cause New York’s finest can’t locate them in the woods.”

Sam gives a low whistle. “Damn, brother, that’s sweet.”

“Hell yeah! Come on, love,” Bucky pleads, “you can’t just throw him out after this; at least let the guy get a coffee or something.”

Bruce holds his breath. He can’t say whether it’d be a good call to hang a lantern on the motivations behind Tony’s surprise appearance or not, but he doubts the desperate edge to Tony’s polite smile is lost on Steve. 

“You almost left me at the altar, Bucky,” Steve points out. “Why should I let him stay?”

Bucky blanches. “Uh…”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce notices Tony slant a curious gaze at him, but he’s too angry with the man to indulge his curiosity with a reaction. 

“Uh, cause he’s doing something to help? How many times were we too late because dispatch couldn’t tell us where to go? He could’ve just paid our honeymoon but he thought about what we’d want instead and found something meaningful.”

Steve still isn’t budging, though Bruce sees some of the tension bleed from his body. You could have heard a feather drop in the two dead-silent seconds it takes for Bucky to find the right words. 

“And, you know… Because you love me and you’re with me till the end of the line?” 

Steve uncrosses his arms with a sigh. Bucky cheers. 

Bruce resigns himself to one hell of a long day. 

*

Thankfully, Tony agrees to hide inside during the ceremony to avoid stealing the spotlight. 

This way, Bruce gets to actively enjoy the ceremony. Bucky and Steve look like right out of a glossy military wedding ad (if the military ever ran gay wedding ads) and Bruce isn’t the only one getting misty-eyed when they exchange vows and rings. 

The Arch of Rifles they pass through afterwards ends right in front of the coffee bar, where Toomes’s staff is ready to serve the small amuse-bouche. 

Bruce watches Peter Parker biting his lip all through Bucky and Steve taking their first sips of their very own coffee blend. He’s wearing a decent suit – light grey, no tie, white shirt – that even Bruce has to admit makes him look like a young man rather than a junior. The boy lights up when Bucky steals a thermos from the counter and pretends to run away with it, Steve hot on his heels. 

That’s when the couple notices the trays. Bruce smiles. They’re laden with twelve kinds of little snacks instead of five. 

Leaning against the coffee bar, Toomes smirks at Bucky’s wide eyes. “Before you get any stupid ideas about hugging me or some shit, Barnes, it wasn’t me.” 

The baker points towards where Bruce is trying – and failing – to fade into the background. Granted, he’s not the most inconspicuous today since he’s one of the few people not wearing a uniform, and the sunshine isn’t helping. 

“The doc decided to be a good best man and spend some of his hard-earned wages,” Toomes finishes, and Bucky hugs Bruce instead. 

At least Tony didn’t witness that display – he’d never hear the end of it since Tony has been bugging him for years to use his pay for something besides books and donations to various charitable health organizations and _The Sweet Vulture_ ’s pastries would definitely earn the Tony Stark seal of approval. 

Tony staying away until after the first dance – Bruce can hear the first chords of Bucky and Steve’s song from the stage ¬– has the added benefit that Bruce can keep an eye on Peter just in case he meets the plus one Tony brought before Tony himself can explain his reasoning. 

Or lack thereof. 

The extent of stupidity a genius like Tony is capable of never ceases to amaze him.

Yet when Bruce returns to the counter of the coffee bar, there’s a tall woman with a short pixie cut in a smart dress already engaging Peter in conversation.

Bruce approaches with a dull sense of foreboding. 

“… met a teenager who’s so knowledgeable in mechanical engineering,” the woman is saying. “I’m in Cognitive Sciences myself, meaning I should know better than to ask you for another coffee but I stayed up till two last night in the labs since frankly, I didn’t think I’d be spending today at a wedding.”

“I, uh,” Peter stammers, “I’ve had a great teacher, is all? Um, another Stucky Blend for you?”

“Yes, please.”

Peter’s eyes land on Bruce then and he greets him with a warm, “Dr. Banner, hi!” even as his hands are going through the motions of pouring the lady’s coffee. 

“I’d like to try one of them as well,” Bruce tells him. “Especially after Bucky’s reaction. I didn’t expect he could get more extreme than he was at the final cake testing.”

Which Bruce himself was too busy to attend since he was dealing with the acquittal of the Arquettes and the renewed quest to find the mole at SI. All signs had pointed to the women – everything had fit perfectly. Too perfectly, maybe, but that’s just an inkling on Bruce’s part. 

Back in the present, the woman turns towards Bruce with a smile. “You’re Dr. Banner, wow, I’ve heard so much about you from Pepper. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Cara Nahar, I know Pepper from spin class.”

That jogs Bruce’s memory. “You’re the prodigy who ignored all head hunters to work for a think tank?”

“A Stark Industries-funded think tank, so I didn’t ignore them completely. But yes.”

“Your coffees,” Peter interrupts. Something’s off about him suddenly, like flicking a switch. Bruce curses in the privacy of his mind – that kid’s too smart for his own good, and he doesn’t even know the full story yet. 

“It was also Pepper who introduced us,” Cara continues, accepting her cup with a gracious smile. 

“I-introduced who?” Peter blurts. 

Bruce tries to intervene but Cara’s “Well, Tony and I, of course!” comes too quickly. 

“Tony’s – uh, Tony Stark is here?”

“Yes, told me to go ahead and hasn’t come back since before the ceremony. He’s probably explaining how to operate that robot thing to the – oh, they’re dancing, never mind, then I’ve no clue what he’s up to. I’m still surprised he asked me. Pepper said she gave him my number months ago but he never called.”

It almost hurts to watch Peter fight to keep his composure. Bruce tries to find a way to assure the kid that Tony’s only here because of him, that he needed a cover and… Well, there’s really no excuse for him leading on this poor woman. 

“He, uh, he must have changed his mind,” Peter says. 

“Or he just didn’t want to show up alone to a wedding,” Bruce offers, aiming for flippant yet the offended glare Cara Nahar gives him probably means he missed. 

Peter, on the other hand, looks hopeful again. 

“Why don’t I find him?” Bruce hurries to suggest. “He’s got to try this coffee. It’s really good.”

Peter grins. “Don’t worry, Dr. Banner, I’ve got all I need to make your usual.”

Well, then the least Bruce can do is track down a certain wedding crasher and talk some sense into him. 

He finds Tony a few steps outside the center, gesturing animatedly where he’s engaged in conversation with a teenage girl Bruce has seen around the _Hybrid Puppy_. She’s wearing a dark blue suit with shirt and tie, her long hair tamed into a shiny mane.

Tony stops when he spots Bruce and waves him over. “Bruce, be a dear and tell this young lady that raising the company-wide minimum wage to seventeen bucks an hour doesn’t mean we’re supporting socialism all of a sudden.”

“Uh…”

“Extending this policy to all your subsidiaries is not a staple of socialism, Mr. Stark, it’s basic human decency,” the girl huffs, “and I’m certain someone with a mind of Dr. Banner’s caliber will agree.”

“Not my specialty, sorry,” Bruce tries, and the girl’s fierce eyes snap back towards Tony. 

“Well, some of our subsidiaries don’t turn enough of a profit to afford paying thirty-one percent more than what we could get away with paying them under minimum wage laws, Miss.”

“And profit’s all you care about, right? Who is the economy for, exactly, Mr. Stark, if not for the people?”

“I am people,” Tony parries with a smile. “Thirsty people. Now, if you don’t want a picture with me – which I find quite baffling, frankly – then I suggest you take your questions and contact my PR department. They’ll be happy to get back to you in seven to seventy business days.”

The young woman chuckles humorlessly while Tony takes Bruce’s elbow and steers them far, far away from her. 

“Gawd, this is what you’re always going on about, Bruce, isn’t it, this is karma? That’s the vegan chick from Peter’s class, ugh, I’ve managed to evade her for months and now she cornered me. Sneaky little minx, I’m telling you… Wait, why’re you glaring at me? I brought presents, didn’t you hear my speech? Didn’t you see how happy your best friend was?”

“Cara Nahar,” is all Bruce says. He’s not sure how he expects Tony to react but it’s not with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Yeah, whatever, she’s at least not completely tedious. Couldn’t exactly show up alone now, could I.”

“You didn’t need to show up at all,” Bruce points out. “Does Peter know you’re here?”

“It’s a surprise,” Tony grins. 

Bruce wants to throw the coffee in his face. 

He doesn’t, but it’s a close call. 

Instead he tells Tony to get his ass over to the coffee bar and make abundantly clear that the only reason he came to the wedding is standing behind the counter, not sitting in front of it. He didn’t count on Miss Nahar’s inability to stop talking, however, or on Bucky remembering his plan to abuse Tony’s Instagram followers for his benefit. 

Peter doesn’t even get the chance to watch Bucky roping Steve into a selfie with Tony since all dancers are craving some java after their first few rounds on the floor and then Tony’s date decides they simply have to dance at least once. Peter keeps darting furtive glances towards the couple, shoulders slumping more and more every time he does so. 

Obviously he misses Tony looking right back at him, and vice versa. It would be hilarious if it weren’t also quite heart-breaking. 

That’s when the girl from before materializes next to Bruce. She’s watching Peter and Tony, too, he realizes with a start. 

“I’m MJ,” she says. “I forgot my manners over the crony-capitalist rhetoric your boss was spewing.”

“He does little else,” Bruce admits. He himself was never much one for opening anyone’s eyes to the realities of the less privileged, though even if he were, he would have known from the start that Tony was a lost battle.

“I doubt he’s even noticing it. The reforms.”

Bruce hesitates. “I wouldn’t go that far.” 

MJ cocks an eyebrow. “What would you call them, then? The higher wages? Restructuring Monsanto’s entire business model? I heard he’s upgrading all dispatch centers and he hasn’t even received the contract yet.”

“That’s just his optimism.” 

She hums. Across the dance floor, Tony looks towards Peter again, who’s starting a new pot and simultaneously clearing the empty cups from the counter top. 

“If you say so, Dr. Banner. Now, if you’ll excuse me. My date owes me a dance.” 

He’s left blinking after her in confusion for about ten seconds before it dawns on him that her date is none other than Peter Parker. And Tony’s still dancing. 

*

Peter tells himself over and over again that Tony is here for him, and maybe if he repeats it often enough he’ll start believing it at some point. 

But she’s smart. Well, of course she’s smart – Peter could have lived with smart. She’s awkward, too, though, and likes to ramble but in an eloquent way, which is totally unfair and if that wasn’t enough, she works on curing cognitive diseases and disorders and she’s closer to Tony’s age than Peter will ever be.

Peter hates everything about her, from her ugly haircut to her glittery peep-toes. 

“Do you have a setting where you’re even more obvious?” 

Peter looks back to MJ, who’s leading them since Peter wouldn’t even be able to remember the steps if Tony weren’t dancing only a few meters away. The late afternoon sun is bathing everything in soft light that makes Tony and his date look like they’re at a cover shoot for _Bride To Be_.

“Huh?”

MJ nods her head towards Tony. 

_What –?_ She can’t possibly...

“Way to go, Parker. Guess I’ll have to stop calling you ‘loser’ now.”

“I don’t – uh, what’re you...?”

“Please. Now you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about, MJ.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re bad at lying?”

“Uh…” Peter stammers. 

MJ gives him a flat look. 

_Shit._

“You’re not gonna, uh,” Peter whispers, “you know, say anything?” 

“And ruin the glacial reformation of Mammoth? No, but what I am going to do is help you make him jealous.” 

“Mammoth?” Peter echoes. “I don’t underst–” He half-trips and lands on her toe instead. 

“Obviously.” 

Yet rather than complain, MJ pulls herself even closer. Peter has no idea what’s going on but past experience has conditioned him to just go along with whatever MJ’s asking of him since at some point it’ll all make sense. That point’s still far away, though. 

“Um, y-your chest is touching mine.”

“That’s intentional, doofus. Don’t look at Stark again.”

“Wha–”

“Just trust me on this. You’ll thank me later.”

Peter doubts that, and MJ dragging him off the dance floor and inside the center without any explanation other than another stern “Don’t look at him!” really does nothing to reassure him.

MJ finally draws to a stop near the staircase, far enough away so they don’t stand in the way where Toomes and Mr. Delmar are managing the dinner preparations. The first and second floors, where Peter gives his computer courses, have been turned into storage for the wedding weekend. 

Suddenly, there’s a hand in his hair. 

“MJ!” Peter shouts, ducking her second attack. 

“I’m just going to mess it up a little, Peter, okay – just enough to make Stark think I had my wicked way with you.”

“What!”

“Don’t sound so horrified, dude, you’ll hurt my ego.”

Peter has yet to find anything that can hurt MJ’s ego, but he bites his tongue. She reaches out again, telegraphing her movements with an amused curl of her lips, and pries a strand of his hair loose. 

“So, uh, what’s your plan?”

“Payback,” MJ says simply. At Peter’s quizzical expression, she heaves a sigh. “He’s making you feel like shit when it’s clear he’d rather be with you. I’m giving him a taste of his own medicine.”

“You’re, um, you’re pretty chill about all this.”

“Acting classes. I’m crying inside for all the gold diggers who will have to blow other billionaires.”

Peter splutters at that but doesn’t get to say anything cause Mr. Delmar needs him to take over coffee duty again so that Zinha can help with dinner prep. 

He hates how he’s able to pick Tony out of the crowd immediately. It seems like Tony was heading into the community center as well but got waylaid by a group of enlisted officers he’s still talking with, though that’s probably just wishful thinking on Peter’s part. 

The way Tony’s glaring daggers at his hair, however, is most certainly real. 

“Need a hand?” MJ offers. She doesn’t wait for a reply and slips behind the bar. “I’ll clean some mugs.”

Tony must be reading way too much into this cause next thing Peter knows, he’s mingling with Nahar at his side, laughing at what she says and offering his arm to her. 

Peter’s so distracted he makes Ned’s hot chocolate with twice the pumps of syrup required. 

“What’s with you, dude?”

“Nothing. Just low blood sugar,” he mumbles.

“Good thing that dinner’s about to start. I’m supposed to tell you to break off camp out here.”

“Before or after you ordered diabetes in a cup?” MJ snarks. 

“Sugar’s the answer to life’s problems,” Ned huffs. 

“No, that’s forty-two.”

“Yes, forty-two grams of sugar!” 

Peter joins into Ned’s laughter at MJ’s disgusted expression. Peter thinks her passionate odes to her plant-based vegan diet wouldn’t fall on such deaf ears if she were less militant about it but MJ doesn’t have a ‘subtlety-switch for social justice’, as she puts it. 

The sun is setting as Peter starts transferring his equipment into the community center and Natasha and Clint are herding everyone inside to take their allotted seats at the round tables surrounding the stage and dance floor. 

The military guests are grouped by rank, civilians by interests or friend circle. Peter, MJ and Ned scored a table close to the food along with May and the Delmars, who will be busy overseeing the buffet. 

“Need a hand, kid?” 

Peter almost drops the last box of Stucky Blend packages. 

“Yeah, fifteen minutes ago,” he says, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. 

It rolls right off Tony, who falls into step next to Peter. Everyone else is already inside so it’s now or never to say something… but Peter’s mind is blank. 

“Well, ain’t that typical,” Toomes voice suddenly cuts through the silence. The man’s a little behind them, carrying a tray towards the hall, and sneering. “Wouldn’t want you to break a nail, sir, by lending a hand.”

“Yeah, just had them done,” Tony says, completely unconcerned. He holds out his hand. “What d’ya say, too hipster?”

Toomes grumbles something unintelligible. 

Peter squints at Tony’s fingers and almost blurts that this isn’t how they look after he gets a manicure but whatever entity is watching over Brooklyn today apparently decided to activate Peter’s brain-to-mouth filter for a change. 

“You know, manicures aren’t just for the ladies, Adrian. Skin care’s important, especially for those of us doing menial labor.”

“Still Mr. Toomes to you, sir.”

“Aw, you wound me, Mr. Toomes,” Tony says, clutching his heart. “I get that manicures aren’t blue-collar enough for you, but seriously, they’re brilliant. Hey, how about I make it a perk of your position? Stark Tower’s got an in-house nail technician. One word, I’ll set up an appointment.” 

Peter half-expects Toomes to punch Tony right then and there – the baker’s definitely tempted. Maybe he would have, too, if it weren’t for the tray he’s still carrying. 

As such, Toomes simply turns on the spot and leaves without another word. 

Tony tilts his head after him. “It’s like he’s allergic to happiness. Sometimes I wonder whether he sleeps in a coffin, cause he’s gonna need it anyway so why waste money on a bed.”

Peter exhales at length. Every now and again, Peter forgets that he’s hopelessly in love with a guy who spends a staggering amount of dollars on getting one of his cars reupholstered and then doesn’t understand why Peter thinks that’s a useless expense better spent elsewhere. 

“Oh, Tony,” Cara Nahar chirps then, “there you are. Dr. Banner’s been looking for us, something about finding us seats.” 

Peter takes that as his cue to finish setting up the coffee bar in its new location. 

It will remain closed for a while longer, since Peter, May, MJ, and Ned volunteered to help Mr. Delmar with the buffet during the initial rush. Peter would much rather just eat cause he’s not even managed to steal an amuse-bouche yet. The unimpeded view of Steve offering the first taste of carrot-sweet-potato soup to his spouse and Bucky making a show of lasciviously licking it off the spoon is totally worth it, though. 

As is MJ accidentally spilling some all over Cara Nahar’s jacket. 

“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” MJ rushes to say, “let’s see if we can’t find something in the kitchen to keep it from staining.”

Peter vows to make the next _Hybrid Puppy_ special inherently vegan as she ushers the woman away while throwing Peter a mischievous wink. 

When he turns towards the next person in line, he stops short. 

Tony’s looking at him, and he’s not amused. “Can I borrow you for a second, Peter?”

Gulping, Peter checks with Mr. Delmar, who waves him along without a comment, so he has no choice but to follow Tony out into the hall. 

“There somewhere we can talk, kid?”

Peter nods. “Upstairs. In the computer labs, maybe?”

“Perfect,” Tony says. “Lead the way.”

Inside lab one, Peter almost trips over an empty cardboard box that used to house wine glasses. Right, there’re still some full boxes up here for later. Decision made, Peter passes through the door that connects the second computer lab with the first and, to be completely on the safe side, continues on to lab three, the smallest and farthest from the staircase.

Once there, he flounders. Tony has stopped in the open doorway, his face unreadable. 

Peter waits, stomach dropping lower every passing second and he can’t even put his finger on why. 

When Tony finally speaks, it’s right out of one of Peter’s worst case scenarios. 

“How come you didn’t invite Eugene? Won’t your aunt be suspicious?”

She wasn’t, is the funny thing, since she understands that attending a wedding together is a huge commitment that’s a bit too much for teenage boys in what she thinks to be the early stages of their relationship. His “I’m going with MJ, as friends” didn’t even earn a double-take. 

Explaining that to Tony, however, would mean talking about feelings, or finding a way to skirt around feelings and Peter doubts he’s capable of pretending he’s anything but head over heels at this point. 

So Peter deflects. “How did, um, how’d you find out about that?”

“Jeez,” Tony grumbles, “what’s up with people believing I don’t keep tabs on what’s going on at my own fucking company? Besides, Marketing suddenly gaining its very own High School intern wasn’t exactly subtle, though JARVIS did a splendid job with the cover-up. Made it seem like the position’s been planned for months. Since when’re you two so chummy, by the way? Never mind, he probably figured it’s one of those things he doesn’t need to tell me about unless I ask, like the kitchen staff sneaking vitamins into my meals. Pineapple on pizza, ugh.” Tony exaggerates a shudder. 

“I didn’t want to put this on you, is all,” Peter admits meekly. 

“This? You mean stupid little douchebags-in-training extorting their classmates? You mean someone almost finding out? Damn it, kid, I wanna know when shit like that happens. What’d you think I’d do, huh, refuse to help?” 

“No, no, I… You’ve got enough on your plate, is all. I mean, you’re trying to pretend that you don’t but you’ve been so busy, first the FBI stuff and the mole thing and miniaturizing the arc reactor and Stark Medical and Monsanto and, and,” Peter knows there’s more but he’s running out of air and the pause is enough for Tony to interrupt. 

“Yeah, and since when is it any of your business how much I’m juggling? Cause this? Pfft, this is _nothing_ ,” Tony growls. “You think that’s a lot, wait till I’m neck-deep in a new system-wide OS or the clowns from R&D accidentally take off their training wheels again and look to me to clean up their mess while some government contract deadline’s on the horizon and some PA puts another fundraiser or ten on my calendar. Anything less intense is a regular week at Casa Stark, but I don’t expect a _High School student_ to understand,” Tony says but he might as well have slapped Peter in the face. 

It’s like he woke up in an alternate reality – why is Tony lashing out like this all of a sudden? What did Peter do wrong? 

Tony’s not finished, though. 

“So go back to your friends. I think it’ll be a while before they cut the cake so you’ll get another chance to dance with that socialist she-devil, whatshername, DC or something.” 

Tony’s doing one of his ‘I could care less’ gestures but his tone is far from it. If anything, he sounds… hurt? _He_ , hurt, after _that_? All of a sudden, Peter feels all his pent-up anger bubble to the surface. 

“Her name is MJ and I don’t wanna dance with her, Tony, I wanna dance with _you_!” he snubs. “But you’re here with that, that,” Peter has to swallow down any insults that come to mind since May raised him better than that, so he settles on, “that _lady_ from MIT! She’s totally playing you, did you notice? She’s all over you, with the touching and the dancing and the compliments, it’s, it’s, yeah, it’s gross, that’s what it is, and – and pathetic. Do you actually like that? Cause it looks like you do,” he finishes, somewhat lamely. 

Peter hates how his voice lost its volume near the end there. Stupid feelings. 

He can’t look at Tony now that his outburst’s over but the man doesn’t give him a choice when his dress shoes appear in Peter’s field of vision and familiar fingers tilt his chin up. 

There’s something dark and primal in Tony’s eyes that Peter’s only ever caught glimpses of in the past. It lights a fire in the pit of his stomach and makes his breath hitch.

When Tony finally breaks the tense silence, his voice is rough, almost strained. 

“You don’t think I’d rather dance with you, too?” he says, and surges forward for a kiss. 

No, not a kiss – cause all the times they’ve kissed, it was never like this, never this raw and desperate and visceral, never this… forceful. Tony kisses him so hard it hurts, but in the best possible way. Peter’s clutching the lapels of his jacket and holds on for dear life. 

It’s breathtaking, literally, and the most awesome thing he’s ever experienced. Tony’s _taking_ , he realizes, finally taking what he wants and abandoning control, and it’s glorious. 

Peter’s back connects with the desk in the first row, right across the instructor’s table at the front, and he spares a half-formed thought about how he’ll never be able to teach in this room ever again… but then Tony snatches his hands away from his chest and slams them onto the desk. 

Like this, Peter’s completely at the mercy of Tony’s tongue and the roll of his hips, and the pleasure coupled with the pain from where the edge of the table digs into his back is enough to make his wires cross.

Then there’s a firm pressure against his groin and Peter needs to break the kiss so he can gulp down some air, forehead pressed against Tony’s shoulder until he’s able to look up again and drown in another frantic kiss. 

“Tony,” Peter gasps when it all becomes too much, “I – shit, Tony, fuck me, please.”

A low, guttural sound is the only verbal response he gets as Tony tears his lips from his, steps back, reaches inside his breast pocket and tosses another travel-size pack of lube at Peter, who of course drops it. He’s lightning fast to pick it up and struggle out of his pants but his hands are shaking too much to open the package once he’s standing there, his erection hot and heavy between his legs. 

With a huff, Tony turns him around while taking the lube from him as he does so. Peter bends over and forces himself to relax, but the anticipation still chases a shudder up his spine. They’ve been doing this often enough that Tony knows exactly how to work him open quickly and efficiently, which is a real life-savior cause Peter thinks either of them would have combusted if they had to wait any longer for Tony to push in. 

There’s nothing gentle about his thrusts this time, nothing cautious, all restraint’s gone out the window the moment Tony kissed him and Peter has never felt more wanted in his life. There’s a hand in his hair and proprietary fingers gripping his hips so hard he knows they’ll leave bruises. The mental image of that is enough to break Peter’s resolve and make him reach for his cock. 

“Uh-uh,” Tony says near his ear and he slaps Peter’s hands away as teeth scrape along his shoulder blade. 

Tony jerks him off at a brutal pace, tugs matching the forceful thrusts that Peter feels deep inside his bones. Holding out’s not an option, not with the intoxicating cocktail of _pleasurepainpleasure_ and Tony’s muffled gasps against his skin. Tony doesn’t ease up as Peter is swept up in release, his own orgasm following quickly in its wake. 

For several moments they just stand there, spent and out of breath. Peter never wants Tony to pull out, but there’s still a wedding in full swing downstairs and the earth keeps turning, unfortunately. 

He’s not at all ready for the look of guilt on Tony’s face when he catches sight of Peter’s neck, which, yeah, okay, kinda hurts, but that’s totally fine. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean to…” Tony’s eyes slide down Peter’s side and ultimately come to rest on Peter’s left hip. “Fuck, kid, I’m so so–”

“No, no, that was, god, Tony, it was awesome!” Peter says, stepping closer and gesticulating for good measure. Not that he could have restrained himself if he wanted to. 

“I hurt you.”

“Maybe, but it was so good,” Peter vows. “I’m serious, that was, it was, I don’t know, I don’t even have words for how awesome it was.”

Tony’s lips twitch. “Awesome’s a word.”

Peter’s grin turns sheepish. “Then there you go. Totally awesome. Ready to do it again in a second.”

Instead of a response, Tony hands him his dress pants. Peter discovers his underwear somewhere on the floor and hurries to clean himself up since the cleft of his ass is starting to become sticky in a less-than-fun way. 

By the time he’s done, Tony’s back in his navy blue suit. Peter is about to comment on how unfair it is that Tony’s hair is perfectly in place again, but the words die in his throat cause Tony’s watching with an expression Peter’s never seen on him before. 

So he just looks back. 

And if he’s wearing his heart on his proverbial sleeve, then screw it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, boys... *swoons*


	20. twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had an exhausting week, my mental health's not the best and to top everything off there was SNOW in Berlin when I woke up. How better to cheer myself up than by sharing this chapter with you? 
> 
> Exactly, there is no better way!   
> I still have the BEST readers, and your feedback and reactions on this are a bright light in this dark season <3 (not to mention, _holy shit_ , 1500+ kudos?!)

The thought that an unsuspecting member of the cleaning staff happens upon the tissues he used to wipe up the, uh, traces of their, um, _dalliances_ off the floor is deeply unsettling so Peter switches out the garbage bag in lab three for a new one and sneaks through the ground floor to dispose of it. 

He returns via the kitchens since he has yet to eat anything and he’s not quite ready to come face to face with MJ this soon after –

“Damn it, at least get a fork, son.”

Peter jumps about a foot at the sound of Toomes’s voice. 

The baker is in the middle of piecing together an impressive wedding cake arrangement – it has five separate layers, all decreasing in size towards the top of the tray Peter made for the occasion, and all a different kind of cake since neither Bucky nor Steve were able to settle on one option that was vegan, nut- and gluten-free, as well as suitable for lactose-intolerant guests. 

Peter checks the clock on the wall on his way to the cutlery drawer. It’s almost nine. 

“Aren’t you cutting it a little close? Do you need a hand?”

Toomes snorts. “Yeah, rub it in now, will ya. Them decorations are a pain in the ass.”

Peter feels compelled to point out that it was Toomes’s decision to go the extra mile and turn the Barnes-Rogers wedding cake into a work of art that wouldn’t look out of place at the MoMa, complete with miniature stars and stripes and Neighborhood Avengers logos… but he’d rather not risk losing the reason _The Hybrid Puppy_ is actually turning a decent profit. 

He can’t wait to see Bucky’s face when he realizes that they get the wedding cake of their dreams despite being unable to afford it. Turns out Toomes does have a heart, after all. 

“Finish that enchilada and pull those cupcakes from the baking paper – no, wash your hands first, _Christ_ , I don’t wanna know where they’ve been tonight, Pedro.”

Peter blushes down to his neck but does as he’s told. 

His triumph at successfully removing highly-breakable renderings of cupcakes made out of differently-colored chocolate from where they were drawn on is short-lived, unfortunately, cause Toomes’s next question has him grow pale. 

“Ya sure you know what you’re doing, son?” 

“Uh, um, you mean w-with MJ?” he stammers, then immediately chides himself for feeding the rumors that are certainly already circulating among the weddings guests. 

Toomes hums, an amused tilt to his lips. 

“I, uh, I think so. I’m doing my best,” Peter tells him, truthfully. 

That seems to suffice for Toomes cause he goes back to decorating the fourth layer of cake without any additional comment or observation. Peter keeps preparing the incredibly-detailed decorations, biting his lip and wondering why the hell this has suddenly become so awkward. 

When it’s time to place the wedding cake topper on top of the fifth and final layer, Toomes pauses. At first Peter’s too fascinated by the adorable marzipan versions of Bucky and Steve, both in their police uniforms clearly besotted with one another even in their stylized form, to notice Toomes is seeking his gaze. 

“How’s your aunt?” 

Peter swallows. “Why do you, uh, why’d you ask?”

Toomes shrugs. “Woman cancelled on me last week. Were supposed to discuss increasing the standing order – again. Seriously, sometimes I wonder if you’re not just using my products to chase off stray cats cause they’d clash with your ridiculous name…”

Someone running a bakery called _The Sweet Vulture_ doesn’t really have a leg to stand on in Peter’s opinion, but he can’t argue the point since his brain stopped working at ‘May cancelled on Toomes’. 

“Did she say why?” he asks. 

“Nah, just rescheduled for next week. ‘S not like her, is all.”

“Well, she’s, uh, one of her friends, she’s not been well and that’s been, um, challenging.”

If Toomes suspects that’s bullshit, he doesn’t call Peter out on it. Small mercies, given the renewed fuel for Peter’s worry.

For the gazillionth time, he wonders if he should just speak up – tell her he notices the pattern and that he’s worried. But what if she denies anything’s wrong, like last time, and he just end ups repeating the same mistakes that led to… to that day?

But what if not saying anything’s the mistake this time? What if she’s been spiraling way lower than Peter realizes? 

No, he can’t take that risk. _No more hiding_ , he decides. He’s going to confront May when they get home after the wedding, no matter what. 

*

MJ’s grin is so smug, you’d think she was the one who had incredibly hot sex with Tony Stark tonight. 

Which, on second thought, is not a visual Peter needed to have in his brain, like, ever. 

She also immediately swoops in and kisses the collar of his shirt. 

“What, what’re you doing?”

“This way everyone’s going to think that love bite’s from me,” she says and sends Peter into a coughing fit. 

“Oh… Um, thanks.”

“Clearly your brain’s still resetting.”

“No, I, uh, I helped –”

Yet at that moment, the band drowns out everyone’s conversations with the _Imperial March_ and a single spot light falls on the door. Toomes wheels in the wedding cake to collective ‘ooh’s and ‘aahh’s, soaking up the praise and awe. 

Bucky is as over-the-moon as Peter expected – he never thought he’d see the day anyone would finally hug Toomes, least of all Bucky – and the eventual cutting of the cake takes ages since Steve genuinely doesn’t want to ruin the beautiful piece of culinary art. 

Peter sends MJ on a quest to get him a slice, too, and takes over the coffee bar from May, who thanks him with a kiss on the cheek. Honestly, though, Peter couldn’t imagine attending this wedding as guest only. It feels good to be working, to have something to do. Besides, he gets to watch the other guests having fun on the dance floor, including his aunt. 

Does he really want to ruin the day with a Talk? Thing is, she doesn’t look worse, in Peter’s opinion. Well, not tonight, that is… Or does she? The lights in the hall aren’t ideal to assess that. 

“You must be the young man behind this delightful coffee.”

Peter almost didn’t notice the guy contentedly sipping a Stucky blend at the counter corner, yet it seems like that’s just the way the man wants it. He’s wearing an average suit and bland tie. Even his face is unremarkable. 

“Yes, sir – we’re from _The Hybrid Puppy_ , up on 37th. Have you heard of us?”

“Only the highest praise. I’m afraid I haven’t ever managed to drop by in person, and I work too far away for anyone to bring back coffee at any sort of acceptable temperature, meaning this is rather fortunate.”

Peter smiles. “Well, if you really like it, I’m happy to give you a pound. Or would you need them ground?”

“He won’t need them in any shape or form, kid,” Tony suddenly materializes next to the guy, fixing him with an angry look Peter’s only seen on Tony when he’s dealing with the press or government institutions. 

“Mr. Stark. I wasn’t aware you were invited.”

“I’m always invited, Agent Coulson,” Tony says and Peter freezes. He knows that name. That’s the brilliant FBI Agent who’s been making Tony’s life difficult. “But how do you know the happy couple?”

“Overlapping friend circles.”

“Aw, I always knew robots had feelings.”

“I assure you I am very much human, Mr. Stark, or else I wouldn’t know to appreciate superior craftsmanship when I come across it.”

“Yeah, that kid’s a real artist when it comes to coffee. The Picasso of Caffeine. His aunt’s delightful, too,” Tony adds with a touch of innuendo that Peter can’t even complain about cause it might be a bit suspicious otherwise. “It’s why I invested in their shop.”

Agent Coulson merely nods. His eyes dart to a point behind Peter’s shoulder, where, as Peter notices, Clint and Natasha are watching the exchange with matching Cheshire cat grins. 

Coulson does end up buying not only one, but three pounds of Stucky blend and disappears back into the organized chaos of the party, which Peter celebrates with more cake. Later that night, he also gets to witness how a slightly tipsy Bucky ropes an even tipsier Tony into recording a video for Instagram which Steve interrupts before his fiancé has a chance to ask Tony for a ride on his private jet one more time (“I’m planning our honeymoon, love!”). 

He also loses a bet to MJ which he pays off by dancing with Ned to general cheering. No one’s really leading, making it pretty hard not to trip but Peter still manages to send a happy grin Tony’s way, who’s watching with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his face.

All in all, it’s an awesome night rounding off an equally awesome evening and Peter’s hyper enough that his nerves don’t show. Cause he’s going to do this – he’s going to talk to May. Dancing and cake and Tony being there have made him bold and he’s not gonna chicken out of his resolution. 

He only half-listens to Toomes complain that Liz has her mind set on an unpaid but prestigious internship for her studies at Stanford as he drives them to the _Hybrid Puppy_ with his van to return their equipment, then gives them a lift to Brooklyn. 

“I’ll brush my teeth real quick,” May says, already walking towards the bathroom, “then it’s all yours.”

Peter nods even though she can’t see and stands frozen on the spot for several seconds. There’s one last thing he can check and if he finds nothing then he’s probably making a mountain of a molehill after all… 

His feet carry him into May’s bedroom, where he crouches down in front of her nightstand. The first drawer holds tissues and a notebook that’s new, or new-ish (he doesn’t make a habit of going through May’s nightstand, he really doesn’t) and pulls open the second one. 

Pills. Sleeping pills, a separate bottle of them. A secret stash. 

Peter grabs it – it’s half empty. And to think he’s been drawing hope from the fact that the one in the bathroom had remained untouched in weeks.

But there’s another bottle. Peter recognizes the name on the label when he picks it up and almost drops it again in shock. 

Where did his aunt get antidepressants from? Has it become so bad, or is she self-medicating, or –

“What’re you doing here?”

Peter leaps to his feet, the bottle of Zoloft still in his hands. “Where did you get these?”

His aunt crosses her arms but doesn’t answer. 

“And the sleeping pills? I thought you were doing better. Then why… I mean,” Peter swallows, yet it doesn’t make the burning sensation in his eyes go away. “I’m not sorry I went through your things. I had to see if – you cancelled on Toomes, and Azra said you haven’t been shopping with her in weeks and I just… I can’t lo– I can’t just stand by this time. Please, I… Tell me what’s going on, May. Please.”

His knuckles are white where they’re gripping the bottle. When he looks up again, May looks shocked and hurt and rueful and so many other things Peter has no chance of naming in the state he’s in. 

“Oh, sweetie…” 

Peter waits. May takes several deep breaths, her hand covering her mouth. Her eyes are wide. 

Then finally, she lowers her arms and walks towards the bed. She sits down on the edge and motions for Peter to join her, which he does. He holds on to the plastic bottle cause he needs something to do with his hands. 

May’s voice is soft when she admits, “I was getting worse. We were doing so well with the investment and new staff and you, oh Peter, you were blossoming and I felt so bad that I’d kept all that from you, that I couldn’t see how much you’d been taking on for me and –”

“No, May, I’m glad to help, I want to –”

She holds up a hand and he stops. She gives him a wry smile that’s only somewhat reassuring. 

“I noticed the signs. I… I could feel myself slipping. And I couldn’t let that happen. So I began looking for a therapist.”

Peter blinks. Therapists cost time and money, too much money, which is why May’s always been against them. “You mean, like at a free clinic? Is that where you’ve been when you…?”

May shakes her head. “I’ve been on a waiting list for a therapist, a really good one, Peter, he’s like, the best for my type of issues and I’m so lucky I even got on the waiting list in the first place and then they had a cancellation and he was able to take me on. He’s doing so much for me, but he’s really busy and I’m not one of his best-paying clients,” she adds with a sigh. “I had to rearrange my schedule a lot so I can make the appointment that’s freed up and I’m so sorry that worried you, Peter, but I didn’t want to say anything because I’ve been doing so well and I didn’t want to jinx it, like tell you I’m better only to crash again and… I’m sorry.”

Peter’s thoughts are tripping over themselves as he tries to process. “But you’re, uh, you are doing better, right? He’s, if he’s so good, then he’s helping?”

“Yes, all in all, I’m…” May sighs, looking towards the ceiling. Her eyes are wet, too, and Peter’s chest aches from the sight. “Don’t get me wrong, there are still bad days. I’m in this transitional phase where I’m breaking with a lot of bad habits and I’m struggling sometimes but it’s getting better every day. I’m so, so sorry that I worried you, sweetie. I should have told you, I… I’m sorry.”

She’s crying openly now. Peter tosses the bottle aside and pulls her into a hug cause he needs to comfort her even if he hasn’t totally caught up with the situation yet. He clings to her, face buried in her neck, when it hits him. 

She’s not deteriorating. She’s getting the help that she needs. She’s going to be okay. 

The worry and anxiety of the past months slowly bleed from Peter’s body. It’s like the weight of the moon’s been lifted off his shoulders and he tells May it’s fine, he understands. He’s glad he knows now and she can stop hiding and he can take over one of her shifts if the doctor calls with a new appointment and she protests but Peter insists and by the end of it they’re both hugging again and crying. 

That night, Peter gets what might be the most restful sleep he’s had in weeks. 

*

Tony’s neck-deep inside a surgical robot when JARVIS announces Peter’s arrival. Tony’s been sequestered in the workshop since returning from the wedding, courtesy of a brainwave regarding Stark Medical’s latest problem on the drive back, and only took a break for a quick nap and a shower. 

He doesn’t hear the kid come in – granted, the speakers are also blasting his 2000s Rock Playlist at full volume – but he registers his greeting and shouts a loud “Hey” back. He senses Peter coming to a stop near him, then feels him place a quick kiss on Tony’s neck, which is the only part he can reach with Tony still stuck inside the machine. 

Peter startles, then, one hand still on Tony’s lower back. 

“Oh my god, is that the prototype of the Stark Sekhmet II?!”

“Right now it’s a bunch of tangled wires I wouldn’t let stitch up a wounded rat,” Tony says but goes ignored. 

He pulls his head out of the machine’s main body – oh, standing upright’s nice for a change – and watches Peter bounce around the robot with glee. 

“I read you’re gonna donate that to hospitals, that’s so awesome, it’s gonna be a big help especially in rural areas where they desperately need more doctors – oops,” Peter collides with the potted plant one workstation over and for the first time notices the veritable jungle that’s taken over the workshop. “Uh. What are those?”

“The bane of my existence. Please, knock ‘em over, then I won’t have to figure out what makes them sterile.”

Peter’s eyes snap to his. “You’re gonna terminate the Terminator Seeds? Let farmers replant their harvest?”

“Oh, no, no, no, I didn’t say that, kid.”

“But –”

“You mentioned something about calculations you did on Friday?”

Peter stops before what would certainly have been a very passionate plea as to why Tony should remove the safeguard that has allowed Monsanto to dominate the market. Not that Tony hasn’t been thinking about that, too, even though producing crops with useless seeds and forcing farmers to buy new seeds the next season was a solid strategy on Monsanto’s part, at least financially speaking. If they’d only put half their business smarts into choosing their CFO, well, then they wouldn’t be close to bankruptcy. 

Wonderful, now Peter’s looking at him like Tony kicked a puppy again. 

It sucks to be on the receiving end of that look, but what does he want Tony to do, willfully put American jobs on the line for some ridiculous notion of feeding the world? It’s not Tony’s job to cure world hunger. Despite several blog posts to the contrary, he’s not running the planet. 

“Calculations, kid?” he prompts.

“Uh, yeah, I…” Peter takes a deep breath and shakes off that awful kicked-puppy look. “I think I’ve figured out how to activate the web fluid so I figured I’d do some tests now, that okay?” 

Peter follows this up with a quick run-down of what he’s conjured up in that brain of his, growing more animated by the second. Especially when he mentions the benefits of this kind of adhesive technology for the construction sector, all at a speed anyone other than Tony would have trouble keeping up with. 

“There’s two flaws in your logic,” Tony informs him with a grin. 

“Oh shit, really? What are they?”

“Not gonna tell ya.”

“Come on!”

“Nah, forget it, kid, how else are you gonna learn?” 

So Peter stalks across the workshop to his workstation – damn, since when has Tony been referring to it as _Peter’s_ in his mind? – and lays out the experiment. As expected, the stuff explodes all over Peter’s quirky T-shirt, which earns Tony a glare. 

“Not funny, dude! Ugh, it even got in my hair…”

“Guess we’ll have to shower. What an imposition,” Tony leers. 

That gives Peter pause. “Was that your plan all along?”

Tony puts up his hands. He’s still holding a screwdriver in one, so the effect might be a bit lost, but it doesn’t keep him from chasing Peter to the elevator. Peter reaches it first but Tony barrels into him in retaliation and pushes him against the elevator wall with the force of his kiss. 

They’re both hard when they step into the shower but Tony stops Peter before the kid’s hand can close around Tony’s cock. 

At Peter’s quizzical gaze, Tony leans close to his ear. “How about we switch things up today?” 

“What do you mean?”

“How about you do me?”

Peter stares at him as if Tony suggested they switch bodies instead. 

Well, he can sort of understand – Tony’s never mentioned an interest in bottoming before and for the longest time, that’s because he didn’t have it. Don’t get him wrong, he used to love it, like cock-slut levels of love it. But then there was Afghanistan and the one time he tried afterwards, well. ‘Unmitigated disaster’ would be putting it mildly. The feeling of not being in control was unbearable, so Tony’s been steering clear of that particular position. 

With Peter, though, Tony… He feels safe. He trusts the kid enough that he thinks it should be fine. If Tony’s ever getting back on that proverbial horse, it’s with Peter. 

“You still with me?” he asks, since Peter’s been staring at him for several seconds. 

“Of course, sure, yeah, I’d, I’d love to! If you’re sure? Cause I’ve been wondering but didn’t wanna ask you in case...”

“Well, great minds think alike. Been a while, mind you,” Tony admits and Peter immediately turns solemn. 

“I’ll be careful.”

“I know you will.” 

And he is. He goes about opening Tony up with an almost comical determination and fascination. Does a pretty awesome job at it, too, and lights up like a Christmas tree when he finds Tony’s prostate on the second try, which – _ngh_ – feels much better when a real person’s doing it, not some prostate massager. 

Speaking of which – it’s about time Tony introduces Peter to his sex toy collection. Now that “I’m going to Eugene’s and no, it’s totally okay with Mr. Stark if I take one of his cars back to Queens” has become a viable cover story, they should make the most of it. 

“Ready?” Peter asks. 

“Kid, I was ready five minutes ago.”

“You said it’s been a while. You’ll thank me later.”

“You’re sassy today. Come on, stop talking about it and get in me already.”

Tony’s on his back so he’s able to see every micro-expression that flickers over Peter’s face. The awe and fascination are flattering, but the unadulterated pleasure… yeah, that makes Tony’s chest swell. He did that. 

Tony clings to the feeling when the sensations threaten to overwhelm him. Peter bottoms out and promptly drops his forehead on Tony’s chest, breathing hard. Before he looks up again he places a random kiss on the skin left of the arc reactor, right above Tony’s heart. Any residual worries on his part bleed away. 

“I’m not gonna break, you know.”

“Yeah, just… Gimme a second,” Peter gasps. “You’re really tight.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

“I’m serious, Tony, I’m not gonna last.”

“Then we’ll just have to try again,” Tony winks. 

“You sure?”

In response, Tony shuffles a bit until he can wrap his legs around Peter’s back and pull him closer, drive him even deeper. Peter’s hips jerk on their own accord, accompanied by a delightful moan. 

“There you go,” Tony says. “Come on, fuck me, kid.” 

Peter obeys, but in slow, measured thrusts. Secretly, Tony is glad for the slow pace as he adjusts to having someone inside him again, and once the pleasure fully kicks in, Tony’s able to ride the waves of lust. Peter hitting his prostate punches a grunt of pleasure out of him, which makes Peter shudder.

“I’m not gonna last,” he says again. 

“Good,” Tony growls and rolls his hips to meet Peter’s thrusts as he brings down a hand to finally touch his own cock. 

Watching Peter come inside him is the most erotic thing Tony’s ever seen – hair disheveled, mouth open, eyes glazed over, a rosy blush to his cheeks. Yeah, they gotta do this again real soon. 

Tony expects Peter to maybe jerk him off afterwards but what the kid does is move down on the mattress and proceed to suck Tony’s brain out through his cock. 

“Ngh, fuck...”

Tony buries a hand in Peter’s hair to guide him but it’s not really necessary cause he remembers where all of Tony’s buttons are even if it’s been a while since they’ve done this. Tony pulls regardless – Peter told him how much he enjoys it, after all. 

They’re both panting and grinning like idiots after Tony has come down Peter’s throat. 

“I figured this way we won’t need another shower.” 

It’s such a Peter thing to worry about conserving water that Tony’s can’t do anything but smile at him for a second. Peter’s smiling back, too, and the air’s getting thick again. For a heartbeat, Tony imagines indulging the shift in atmosphere and – no. Nope, not right after sex. 

So he paws at Peter’s shoulder. “Gawd, you’re impossible. At least get me a fucking washcloth.” 

“Get your own washcloth,” Peter shoots back with a cheeky grin.

How that leads to them chasing each other through the penthouse, dressed only in their underwear and trying to wrestle a damp towel from one another, Tony couldn’t possibly say. 

Of course Peter trips, allowing Tony to snatch the towel from him and hold it above his head. They’re a step too far from the sofa so Peter has to try and grab it by jumping, to Tony’s immense amusement. 

They’re swaying, sort of, which reminds him of something. 

“You still owe me a dance, kid.”

Peter promptly freezes and flushes, averting his eyes but Tony sees how it affects him. He saw it yesterday, too, at the wedding. At least now they’re not still basking in post-coital glow. 

Tony throws the washcloth in the general direction of the bedroom and lifts Peter’s hand, placing the other on Peter’s lower back like the gentleman no one ever believes him capable of being. 

Peters breath hitches on a soft “Oh,” when Tony pulls him close. 

“JARVIS, give us some music.”

A beat.

Then the rock playlist continues right where it left off when Peter’s experiment exploded in the workshop.

The first drum fill of his favorite “[Hurricane](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V2fyq2ii5QY)” cover blasts through the penthouse and Tony curses the day he vowed to be the first person to build a true AI. No Nobel Prize is worth dealing with a meddling JARVIS. 

Peter is laughing, though, Tony realizes. Okay, what the hell, it’s still a rhythm – no reason the AI’s cheek should keep him from dancing with his partner. 

_… woah, where the hell did that come from?_

But the mental stumble doesn’t faze Tony since he’s a stellar dancer and the king of compartmentalization, meaning he’s still guiding Peter to the song. The kid’s laughing so hard that Tony feels the vibrations against the palm of his hand. 

Then the music stops as suddenly as it started. 

“JARVIS, I swear to Turing –” is as far as Tony gets before JARVIS interrupts.

“Apologies, sir, but there has been a development.”

A ‘development’ can mean anything from a terrorist attack to the Dow Jones taking a sudden nose dive (or both) and Tony’s about to wonder if JARVIS could be any more vague when the television switches on. 

Peter and he both turn towards the screen without letting go of the other, which is the only reason Tony doesn’t immediately smash the TV when he recognizes the face of _John Bloody Oliver_. 

Yet any and all protests die in his throat when he spots the image in place of the raccoon-faced bastard’s usual silly manip. 

It’s them.

It’s them, in the textbook definition of a compromising position: Peter panting against his shoulder; Tony’s hand pressed against Peter’s groin. 

Someone caught them. 

Someone caught them and sold the evidence to HBO.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hits post* ... *hides in bunker*


	21. twenty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've emerged from my personal circle of hell to present you with a super-extra-long chapter to make up for dropping that bomb on you all. The bomb I'm really, really sorry for... *winks* 
> 
> According to merlenhiver, this chapter deserves its own **warning** , so consider yourself warned! I personally think this is my favourite chapter of this story so far :)

Tony’s mouth is dry and his chest feels hollow. His mind is bursting with conflicting impulses, from taking Peter and hiding on a tropical island to alerting Remy and McKenna on his own accord. 

He goes with neither. 

“Replay it from the start, JARVIS,” he says, voice rough. “We gotta know what we’re dealing with.”

The AI obeys immediately. 

“Welcome, welcome, welcome to _Last Week Tonight_!” John Oliver says on screen. “Thank you so much for joining us – so much has happened this week, from Monsanto announcing it’s been saved from declaring bankruptcy by an unknown buyer, to Congress passing the bill that would reverse Title II and destroy Net Neutrality as we know it.”

The audience boos. Tony can’t fault them for that. 

“Our main story tonight would have been another meticulously researched piece that lays out the complexities of a specific issue over the span of twenty minutes for all of you who don’t have a staff of three researchers to dig into such riveting issues yourselves.” 

Scattered laughter. Peter fidgets next to Tony. 

“Now, attentive members of our audience may have noticed my use of conditional in that statement – that’s because we’ve had to change our main story after receiving a photograph this morning that made us all go, ‘Oh fuck!’ Well, everyone else went ‘Oh fuck!’, I went ‘Bloody hell, that’s brilliant!’ No, not because it was this photo of teacup pigs at the Niagara Falls,” Oliver quips to a resounding “Awww”, “but because it concerns none other than America’s favorite billionaire, who some have come to call my personal ‘nemesis’, Tony Stark.”

What starts as confused laughter turns into chuckling as the picture is revealed. It doesn’t look bad, objectively speaking. If it weren’t for the context, Tony doubts even McKenna would bat an eye. 

There’s no chance in hell, however, that a bloodhound like John Oliver would just shrug this off as yet another sex scandal in Tony’s long history of provocative liaisons. 

“I know what you’re probably thinking,” the host continues. “Something along the lines of, ‘That’s Tony Stark preparing to give yet another young, beautiful man a handjob, so what? Johnny-O, we hate to break it to you but such pictures haven’t been scandalous since the era of Stark’s orgies in the early 2000s. Why’d HBO spend any money on that picture? Have you and your staff been sniffing the good stuff, because this really isn’t the Emmy-Award-winning satire we’ve grown accustomed to from this show.’ And you might have a point. Did we discuss whether or not to buy this photo? Yes. But why did we do it, if not for our inherent dislike of hypocritical CEOs whose mere existence reminds us of our own mediocre lives and lack of #waistcoatbody?”

Oliver pauses as some viewers chuckle. 

“Well, look closer.” 

They zoom in on the picture, magnifying Peter’s face, arousal written in every line of it. Tony feels the kid twitch and wants more than anything to reach out, to comfort him, but he’s paralyzed in fear of what’s to come. 

“If you’re thinking, ‘Golly, this man looks awfully young’ – that’s because he is,” Oliver says, going from jovial to serious like flicking a switch. “This ‘man’ has only recently turned seventeen. This is also not actually a photo but a _still_ from a video clip that we decided not to publish in any form since even HBO draws the line at _child pornography_.” 

There’s shocked laughter but it can’t eclipse the strangled gasp coming from Peter. 

“To be clear, we have, in the twelve hours we had to research this story, uncovered no definitive proof that Tony Stark seduced this boy prior to his seventeenth birthday. However, the sheer amount of evidence certainly points towards it. Remember our blip about Mr. Stark developing a sudden penchant for locally grown coffee?” 

The Twitpic from back then briefly replaces Peter’s magnified face. 

“That’s the coffee shop this kid works at!” Oliver reveals to collective gasping. “There’s even a video of him in which he tells Tony Stark off for trying to evade the rules, which we found so amazing at the time it surfaced that we started frequenting that coffee shop ourselves.” 

The next series of images have all been taken at various tables at _The Hybrid Puppy_ , with paper cups and left-over crumbs from demolished pastries scattered in front of what Tony presumes are writers of the show. 

“In light of this evidence, we went to dig a little deeper and it turns out that this seventeen-year-old is far from the first of Tony Stark’s flings to veer dangerously close to the age of consent.”

_Oh, fuck._

“Last October, this guy bragged about ‘banging Tony’ in the penthouse of Stark Tower. He even shared an Instagram post of himself blissed out on the sofa. He’s barely eighteen.” 

Tony remembers that guy. That was the day Pepper’s hand on his shoulder sent him into a panic attack in the workshop after the fundraiser. 

“Also, and this is where this gets really interesting,” Oliver tells them, his tone one of gleeful excitement. “There are sealed police records concerning a former Valedictorian in a case that reached a settlement before it ever went to court. Could be anything, though. Mr. Stark could have merely told her company secrets that he locked down with that NDA. Utterly likely. I mean, the then sixteen-year-old went on to study English literature. Doesn’t have to be statutory rape charges that never made it anywhere because the family was paid off.” 

Tony feels Peter’s eyes flicker to him but he refuses to look back. 

“And this isn’t even confined to the US – everywhere Tony Stark goes, young beautiful men and women finance their next car by selling stories of his sexual prowess. So are we wrong to worry about yet another impressionable teenager?” 

Tony sees Peter open his mouth out of the corner of his eyes but John Oliver barrels on.

“A teenager who, as far as we’ve been able to determine, has been spending a lot of time alone with Tony Stark after the man actually _invested_ in the coffee shop he works at and _personally oversaw_ the remodeling.” 

More gasps from the audience. Tony hates that he can’t even argue the fact cause it looks damning as hell. 

On screen, Oliver shrugs. “Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe we’re too biased and nothing happened and in that case, our sincere apologies. But we owe it to the victim to prevent another cover up, which I’m sure the legal department from Stark Industries will have started by the time you’re watching this on YouTube.” 

And then Tony hears the words that punch the air right out of him. 

“Too bad,” Oliver sneers. “It’ll be too late for that because we’ve already shared the video this still was taken from along with every scrap of evidence we uncovered in our research with the District Attorney’s office of New York.” 

_Fuck._

Peter startles so hard he actually takes a step back. Tony’s eyes track the movement and find Peter’s own, wide and scared and panicked. 

Tony wants to soothe him, tell him it’ll be okay but they both know it won’t be, have known ever since they saw the image – no, the _still_. Some scumbag filmed them. It’s not the first sex tape that exists of Tony but _damn it_ , Peter doesn’t deserve any of this. 

On the television, John Oliver segues into “And now, this”, which draws their attention and turns out to be titled _Tony Stark’s Sex Scandals Through the Ages_ , which, no, that’s it, that’s enough. 

“Turn it off,” Tony snaps and JARVIS obeys instantly. 

The silence that follows feels like they stepped into the eye of a hurricane. Neither of them manages to look at the other. Deep down, Tony knows what he has to do, what the right thing, the kind thing is, at least in the long run. If the DA is in on this, it’s only a matter of hours before Tony’s taken in for questioning. There’s little chance they won’t charge him, and then it’ll be restraining orders and seizing his phone records and the sooner Peter deals with the fact that this is it for them, the better. 

Tony sighs. There’s a dull feeling in his chest and all thoughts in his head fade to white noise.

“Well,” he says. “It was fun while it lasted, kid.”

He feels more than sees Peter freeze.

“F-fun?”

Tony physically can’t resist looking at Peter any longer. What he sees is as he expected. The raw emotion in Peter’s eyes still cuts him to the bone. 

Tony’s mouth is dry as sandpaper, but he forces himself to speak. “Pepper’s gonna be here any second. You better sneak out, I’ll have JARVIS take care of the CCTV footage. You should get an alibi for tonight.”

Peter manages a stunned nod. 

“Don’t talk to any reporters – scratch that, don’t talk to any strangers. They’ll try to trick you.”

“Wha–” Peter tries but has to clear his throat to get his voice working properly. “What do you want me to tell the, uh, the police?”

Tony’s pulse stutters. If he told him to, the kid would perjure himself without a second thought. They could do it, too. They could swear under oath that they waited with everything until Peter was of age. Tony would donate some money to the district, would treat the DA to a pair of Super Bowl tickets, and eventually it might all go away. 

It’s a beautiful fantasy. 

That’s all it will ever be, though. 

“The truth,” Tony tells Peter. “You will, under no circumstances, lie to the police or the court. Just, no. I knew the risk when I let you blow me the first time.”

“But –”

“No buts,” Tony interrupts before he can actually think, and that’s the moment Peter’s composure breaks. 

He can’t watch Peter cry. Tony couldn’t handle it. 

And JARVIS knows that. 

“Sir, a car is waiting for Mr. Parker and Mrs. Potts has just left her rooms.”

Tony nods, starting to walk towards the bar. He’s never needed a drink more. 

“Tony, I’m so sorry –”

“You can’t be here. You need to leave before Pepper sees you.” 

He hears Peter take a deep breath and braces himself before lifting his gaze. 

There are no words to describe the kid’s expression. There are no words to describe what Tony feels when Peter gives him a curt nod and makes to go, either. 

Tony watches Peter cross the room and step into the open elevator. 

Their eyes meet for the last time before the doors ding shut and just like that, Peter Parker is no longer part of Tony’s life. 

*

Peter doesn’t remember how he makes it to MJ’s balcony. He’s numb all over and that only begins to fade when MJ and Ned open the back door for him. 

Right, Ned said something the day before about going over to MJ’s, Peter recalls. The memory feels far away, like it’s wrapped in cotton inside his head. 

“Were you with – ugh, of course you were,” MJ sighs by way of greeting. “You’re so fucking lucky my parents are gone, Parker,” MJ grumbles at him. “Good thing you didn’t call or text to ask first since one look at your phone records and we’d all be complicit and no, I don’t want the first stain on my criminal record be _obstruction of justice charges_.”

During her speech, she’s pulled Peter through the living room and into the hallway towards the front door. 

“Uh, what are we doing?” Ned wonders, trailing after them. He looks hurt. Why would he look hurt? 

MJ rolls her eyes. “Sending Peter home after he found out he’s part of a sex scandal while watching HBO with us.”

“But he – oh!” Ned’s nodding, yet he’s at half his usual enthusiasm levels. “And we all saw the photo together. Sure. That, yeah, that’s totally what happened. And I was the only one it was really any news to. Okay.”

Oh. 

“I’m sorry, Ned. I…” Peter doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. He’s a bit surprised his voice is cooperating as it is. 

“He hasn’t told _anyone_. Stop your emo act, Leeds, you can bro-hug it out tomorrow when we bring him our notes from school and homework.”

“Huh? Won’t he be there?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure he can’t wait to get crushed underneath the wheels of Midtown Tech’s rumor mill.”

“Oh… Yeah, you should totally call in sick, dude.” 

Peter nods. His aunt’s going to – 

Wait. 

Oh no. 

“I – I’ll have to tell May,” Peter realizes. “I’ll have to – but she’s thinking – oh god.” 

Both Ned and MJ regard him with wide eyes. 

“Come on, she’ll be… I don’t know. Tony Stark, dude! That’s so exciting, you’re dating the greatest genius of our time!”

_Not anymore._

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and presses the palms of his hands against his eyes but the burning sensation only intensifies. 

“Shut up, Leeds.”

“What? It’s so cool –”

“Shut it,” she hisses, and Ned fortunately does. 

Whatever made everything numb before stopped working when Ned said ‘dating’ and everything floods Peter’s mind at once. 

Sex scandal. District Attorney’s office. Don’t lie to the police. 

_It was fun while it lasted._

Small but strong hands grip his shoulders and Peter comes face-to-face with a determined MJ. 

“Okay, listen. You listening, Parker? You need to pull yourself together. It sucks, I get it, but you don’t have a choice. Now, here’s what happened: You’ve been here since whatever time you passed by this house on your way to the Tower. We met up to study, you got a Spanish quiz next week.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, dude. Thursday.”

“Oh.” Peter faintly remembers something. 

“We got an early start,” MJ decides, “and got our Johnny-O fix in. We’ve been comforting you ever since.”

“I don’t think this is what comforting looks like,” Ned says. 

“That’s because I’m developing the alibi. Now Peter, make sure to be in view of Big Brother on your way back. Don’t look at your phone –”

Peter’s hand instantly darts to the pockets of his pants. MJ slaps them away. 

“No. Don’t text anyone, don’t call anyone, don’t look at anything. Don’t do that to yourself.” MJ releases him and reaches for the door handle. “And good luck with your aunt.”

Peter feels like a Dead Man Walking as he waves at his best friends and leaves the building. The short walk does nothing to clear the chaos inside his head. 

His phone rings. It’s been mute all night, which strikes Peter as odd, so why is it ringing now? Maybe JARVIS thought…

The caller ID says ‘May’. Peter’s in plain view of a CCTV camera. This is good – this will be proof that his aunt knew nothing about this. 

“May, I’m almost home,” he says as soon as he picks up. 

“Tony Stark?” she demands in a voice Peter has never heard before. 

“Please, just… I’m at the corner, I can see our flat, I promise I’ll explain every–”

“Oh, you bet you will, mister.”

The dial tone rings. 

“Thank you, Mr. JARVIS,” Peter tells him softly. He doesn’t get a reaction, but then he wasn’t expecting one. 

When he closes the front door behind himself, dread fills Peter’s stomach and he needs a long moment before he manages to turn around and face his aunt. May’s been pacing in front of the sofa and is now staring at him with a mix of anger and disappointment. Her eyes are still a bit puffy, but whatever tears she shed have long since been wiped away. 

“Eugene, Peter?” she asks, but Peter knows it’s rhetorical. “I was so happy for you, I thought you’d found your own high school sweetheart but,” she stops, taking a deep breath and unclenching her fists before looking at him again. “You lied to me, Peter. Straight to my face. I trusted you, I, I let you go to Stark’s workshop and I believed you when you said you were with Eugene, but you weren’t, were you? I trusted you to be honest with me and all this time you’ve been lying and, and that man, he –”

“He didn’t do anything wrong!” Peter interrupts because he has to, but his aunt’s not having any of that. 

“He had sex with a minor! He’s old enough to be your father, Peter – is that what this is about? You wanted a mentor and he wanted something in return?”

“What?! NO!” Peter gasps but May doesn’t seem to accept anything he says right now. 

“Or was it about the shop? That night when I – you were fixing his coffee machine, right before he made the investment… Was that it, did he pressure you?”

“No!” Peter repeats, more upset than shocked this time, but May’s far from done. 

“Azra told me about the other children, she called me as soon as the segment was over. There’ve been others, right, a sixteen-year-old girl and a boy and other countries and that’s what he does, and I get it, Peter, he’s handsome and he has all this money and it’s not your fault you thought he cared but can’t you see, he’s a sick man. He’s been exploiting you for his own pleasure, you’re not to blame, you’re the victim here –”

“I’m not a victim!” Peter shouts, hating himself for it but he hates what she’s saying more. “And Tony’s not sick, and he hasn’t been exploiting anyone, he’s been good and considerate and gentle and he never pressured me into anything, I never did anything I didn’t want, I consented –”

“You’re a child, Peter, you can’t –”

“Yes, I can, and I did, and I know what I want and that’s him and for some reason he wants me, too,” he says, losing momentum because it really hurts that no one seems to think that’s a possibility. “Is that so hard to believe? That someone like Tony could…” Peter swallows. “Could c-care for me?”

May’s eyes widen. His euphemism doesn’t fool her for a second. 

“Because he does. For real, not cause… You said it yourself, he’s good for me – and I think I’m good for him, too.” Peter gulps, mouth suddenly dry. “Was. Was good for him.”

Any residual anger in May’s expression vanishes. 

It’s the first time Peter has admitted to it. Saying it out loud suddenly makes it fatally real. 

“Oh, sweetie,” May sighs, and reaches out for him. He shies away from her arms at first but the comfort he desperately craves wins out. Maybe, if she holds him long enough, it’ll all go away and the world will be back to the way it was. 

*

Pepper is pacing up and down the hallway, headset in one ear. Tony watches her soothe worried board members through the glass wall of the conference room while Remy and McKenna talk in low voices. 

Pepper took his drink off him. It was the first thing she did, even before sending him to the bedroom to get dressed. He expected her to shout at him but, to his surprise, she never even raised her voice. 

But she did take his scotch and Tony can’t get himself another one while they’re waiting for Legal to get their asses into the office cause he’s not allowed booze during meetings. Not since one memorable day in 2012 that led to Remy and McKenna’s predecessors tendering their resignations. 

Tony doubts he’ll need to go on a bender this time around to chase those two off; a sex scandal involving a minor might do just fine. 

The door opens and Tony looks up. 

“You’re not Larry,” he says. 

“No, and you should be glad for that,” the woman responds in – heck, is that a New Orleans drawl? It sounds odd coming from a tall, curvy blonde. 

“Yeah, why’s that?” Tony wonders as the woman sets down her briefcase across from Remy and McKenna, who don’t seem surprised in the slightest. 

“I’m in-house council for sexual harassment and related issues, and I happen to be familiar with the ADA overseeing the sexual crime cases, which will come in handy. Besides, any judge will be more sympathetic to a woman when it comes to rape charges,” she states bluntly. “Apologies, but Larry would look out of place on this side of the aisle.”

Tony scoffs. “Do you always stereotype like this?” 

“Do you always sleep with sixteen-year-olds?”

Tony’s jaw clicks shut. So Legally Blonde has spunk. 

“I see you’re not denying it.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. As if that picture left any room for doubt in the minds of those who know him. 

“I guess that’s something.”

Everyone’s eyes find Pepper in the doorway, taking off her headset. She doesn’t sit down. 

“The sooner you’re honest with us the better,” Pepper continues. “This is Mrs. Janine Ainsley, she’s the best. She settled the Valedictorian case.”

Ah. 

“I just need you to answer a few simple questions for me, Mr. Stark, then I can advise you and your Communications team on ideal strategies.” 

Tony gives her an impatient wave. His mind is already back upstairs with his scotch. 

“I need you to be honest, Mr. Stark. Can you do that?”

“Sure I can: I don’t like you.”

Ainsley’s smile doesn’t waver. “You don’t pay me to be likeable. You pay me to get you and the company out of this clusterfuck you screwed us all into.”

McKenna winces. “Is such crude language truly necessary?” 

“Do you have a more apt description, ma’am?”

“I don’t care what you call it,” Pepper says, “as long as you get us out of this with as little damage as possible.”

Tony gets a feeling that ship has sailed the moment some scumbag hit ‘record’ in Brooklyn. Ainsley nods, then fixes Tony with a neutral gaze. It’s a welcome break from the judgmental vibes he’s getting from the rest of the room.

“Well, Mr. Stark. Did you sleep with the young man in the video –” 

“Peter Parker,” Remy offers. 

Ainsley doesn’t trip in the slightest. “Did you sleep with Mr. Parker prior to his seventeenth birthday?”

“No.”

“As in, there was no anal sex, giving or receiving, on Mr. Parker’s part?”

“No, there wasn’t.”

Tony’s not new to being questioned by his legal department. He’s spent more time in interrogations than any CEO probably should, but it helps him distance himself from this. If he stays in an analytical mindset, then maybe the well of emotions he’s trying to ignore won’t bubble to the surface for a while longer. 

“Oral?”

Tony grits his teeth. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ainsley says, making a note in her sleek notepad. “Giving or receiving?” She looks at him expectantly. 

Tony swallows. “Both.”

Pepper heaves a sigh. It sounds more weary than angry but in Tony’s experience, that’s worse. He’ll take explosive rage over cold disappointment any day. He knows how to deal with shouting. 

“Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Stark,” Ainsley tells him, and it seems like she means it. “Now, I hope everyone in this room is clear on the fact that perjury is out of the question?”

“Yes,” McKenna agrees immediately. “The last thing we need is another scandal because Mr. Stark tried to get away with rape.” 

“Besides, this isn’t so bad, is it? Blow jobs only, I mean?” Remy’s eyes are on Ainsley, but it’s Pepper who answers. 

“It could be worse, and my priority is keeping it that way. We have seven hours before the stock markets open – any chance this can be resolved by then?”

“That all depends on when the ADA hears about this,” Ainsley says, “but we don’t want to phone her out of bed ourselves, I assure you. Give it a few hours, they will come to us. ADA Torres will want to do this one by the book, so I will start prepping you now, Mr. Stark.”

“Prepping me? How come I doubt that’s going to be as dirty as you make it sound?”

“For testimony,” Ainsley says, much less friendly all of a sudden. “To the police. Who are going to question you on statutory rape charges – I hope you recognize the gravity of this situation before they knock on your door.”

Tony lets his head fall back and slouches a bit more in his chair. He sees nothing _but_ the gravity of this situation, if from another angle entirely. He hopes Peter has made it home okay. He should ask JARVIS… no, that’d be suspicious. No need alerting them that Peter was here tonight. 

“What about a statement?” Remy suggests. “To be released before the markets open? We can prepare different copies so we’re ready for any development and can act quickly.”

McKenna nods along. “It will show that Mr. Stark is cooperating and at the same time signal that the entire thing will be over soon.”

“Nip it in the bud before it blows up,” Remy adds. “Maybe spin this to shift the focus on the person who filmed the encounter – do we know who did it yet?”

When Ainsley merely shakes her head but looks agreeable, Pepper gives them all a flat look. “I hope you realize you’re not the bomb squad – it’s too late for that. We’re all first responders now.”

“Is that a yes or no on the statements, Mrs. Potts?”

“Of course! We can’t just ignore this. Just be sure to focus on damage control – which is what I’m going to do. Find me when you’ve got something to read for me; I’ll be in my office.” 

Ainsley nods, as do Remy and McKenna like the good little soldiers that they are. 

Tony clears his throat. “I could really use a –” is as far as he gets before Pepper snaps. 

“No, Tony, you will _not_ get a drink!” she says, rounding on him, white-knuckling her phone. “You’ve single-handedly brought about what’s possible the most explosive scandal in company history, you’re keeping people who have so many better things to do in the office on a Sunday night because you couldn’t keep it in your _fucking_ pants –” oh shit, she’s cursing “– so no, I will not make your life easier and let you get a drink, Tony.”

“Uh… I was gonna ask for a coffee?” Tony tries a smile. “Been awake for about thirty-six hours cause I’ve figured out what’s wrong with the Sekhmet II,” he adds as a peace offering. 

“I’d like some coffee, too,” Ainsley admits. She immediately becomes Tony’s new favorite person in the room. 

Pepper takes a deep breath. Even that sounds angry. “You can make your own then – God knows you should know your way around coffee machines by now.”

Ouch. 

“Look, Pep, I –”

“Don’t ‘look, Pep’ me, Tony! You swore. You swore you’d keep your hands off him and I believed you. I still warned Marketing and Legal just in case, but I _believed you_. You could have just waited until February, _for Christ’s sake_ , why was that so _fucking_ hard?”

Tony can’t answer that. For one, he doesn’t really know himself – he could hide behind ‘instant gratification’ and blame his libido but that’s not quite the truth, is it, but he can’t think about the truth cause that would remind him of Peter’s face and his look and the stupid _ding_ of the elevator and nope, Tony’s not gonna think about that ever again.

When he remains silent, Pepper exhales audibly and simply turns on her heels, then walks out of the room. Yeah, he’s in the dog house. He should be glad she’s still talking to him at all. 

Remy and McKenna rush off moments later, leaving Tony alone with Ainsley. With a start he realizes that she’s gonna ask him about the specifics of the… _instances_ he broke the law, and that prospect is enough to chase him out of his chair. 

“I’m gonna make us that coffee.”

She lets him flee. Yeah, she’s really growing on him. 

*

Tony’s waiting in the closest break room for the pot to fill up with something that will definitely not send his taste buds down memory lane when JARVIS speaks up. 

“Sir, please check the printer in room twenty-oh-nine on your way back.”

Tony squints up at the nearest camera. “Why?”

“I have compiled a list detailing the occasions you and Mr. Parker’s actions were in conflict with New York State law. The only copy in existence can be found in printer seven, closest to the door. I believe it would enable both you and Mrs. Ainsley to proceed at a swifter pace and reduce the margin of error inherent to human memory.”

Tony stares. He doesn’t know whether this is just JARVIS being JARVIS or the AI’s way of apologizing for the music moment – no, not thinking about that – but whatever the reason, Tony could weep with relief. 

He doesn’t, obviously. He can’t get his voice to work, either, however, but he knows JARVIS only needs to analyze his expression to read the gratitude. 

The pot is done. Tony grabs two mugs, a tray, and squares his shoulders. Showtime. 

*

ADA Torres calls at 5.30 in the morning. 

Tony listens to Ainsley’s side of the brief conversation and gets the impression that the prosecutor knows exactly what she’s doing. Torres welcomes their cooperation yet expects them “as soon as possible”, meaning prior to the stock markets opening. She doesn’t allow them to enter through anything but the main entrance either, which has Pepper fuming and Tony rushing into his bedroom to change into something that’ll look good on TV. 

Ainsley accompanies him to the Midtown Precinct South near the corner of 35th and 9th Avenue. The swarm of reporters isn’t exactly a surprise. Tony has been advised not to smile so he simply ignores the entire circus while Ainsley refers them to the official statement SI released ten minutes ago and highlights that “Mr. Stark is here on his own accord”. Of course these idiots can’t see the lack of handcuffs behind their huge boners for the story. 

It’s weird, volunteering to go in for questioning. 

Or maybe that’s just the exhaustion talking. 

“I’m Angela Torres, Assistant District Attorney. I’ll be overseeing the interview.” 

ADA Torres seems to be quite similar to Ainsley, only shorter, thinner, with darker skin and traces of a New Jersey accent. They’re both wolves in sheep’s clothing, as far as Tony is concerned. 

But there’s another person in the hallway. 

“I take it you’re familiar with Agent Coulson?” Torres asks. “The FBI would like to listen in as well, if you’re agreeable.”

It’s obviously rhetorical but Ainsley allows it anyway. Tony ignores her in favor of fixing Coulson with a glare. 

“Wanna get some popcorn before we start, Agent?” he sneers. 

“Oh, I’m here on business, Mr. Stark.”

“This isn’t your jurisdiction.”

“Not directly, no,” Coulson says. He’s weighing his words carefully, like something’s on the tip of his tongue. Whatever it is, he decides against verbalizing it. 

Tony’s even tenser now. If the FBI’s snooping around, then… He swallows. He can’t screw this up. He’s gotta give them everything they need and make questioning Peter seem like a waste of resources. 

So he tells the truth. 

Under the watchful eyes of ADA Torres, Agent Coulson (and whoever else is hiding behind the one-way mirror) as well as three separate surveillance cameras and an audio recording system, Tony responds to every single one of the Detective’s questions as truthfully as he can. 

Detective Wong is young-ish and ambitious. He clearly smells the case that will make his career – Tony can see the fantasy of slapping cuffs on Tony Stark in the man’s eyes. Probably grew up envious of the billionaire lifestyle, took his self-righteousness and joined the NYPD. Any other day, Tony could play him like a fiddle. 

“Did you offer the investment before or after you’d already slept together?” 

Needless to say, Wong sees ulterior motifs everywhere. 

“Before.”

“Was it understood, then, that Mr. Parker owed you?”

“No, it was not. The sex had nothing to do with the investment.” 

“Really?” Wong wonders, cause apparently in his mind all young men are just desperate to fuck their way into fortunes. His disdain for Peter’s obvious and only years of conditioning and stellar compartmentalization skills allow Tony to keep his cool. 

At least outwardly – on the inside he’s already sic’ing JARVIS on this guy. The chap strikes him as the kind to have dick pics on his phone. Folders full of dick pics. 

“Have you, since the start of your sexual relations, given Mr. Parker any gifts?”

“Yes, a birthday present.”

“Would you care to elaborate?” 

No, Tony wouldn’t. He does anyway. 

“Did you ever reveal company secrets to him?”

… huh. Tony arches an eyebrow at Wong. “I just told you he was in my workshop. He saw stuff lying about so I guess that would count as trade secrets to the likes of you, Detective. But Mr. Parker signed an NDA prior to that.” He forces an exasperate sigh and ignores the panic constricting his chest. “Seriously, if Agent Coulson wants to use you as his owl he should at least do a better job at wording questions in a way they blend in with the rest of your list.”

Wong scowls, feathers successfully ruffled, and skips ahead without asking him to expand. Score one for Tony. 

When the Detective runs out of questions he closes his file and simply looks at Tony, who’s slouching a bit. 

Oh come on, he’s going on fifty hours without sleep, he’s allowed some leeway, right? Besides, it’ll look good on the tapes should they ever get leaked. Or – though that doesn’t bear considering – make it to _court_. 

The Detective clearly doesn’t appreciate his knack for cinematography, for he narrows his eyes and leans in. “Congratulations, Mr. Stark. You wittingly confessed to a criminal sexual act in the third degree – a class E felony – that can earn you up to four years in prison along with an entry in the Sex Offenders Registry. I hope the twink was worth it.”

Okay, that’s it, screw compartmentalization. 

Tony’s just about to leap across the table when ADA Torres enters, Ainsley right behind her. It’s her look that has Tony sit back down and pretend like nothing happened. 

“I’ll take it from here, Detective.”

Wong exits with a sneer. 

ADA Torres perches herself on the edge of the desk so she can look down at him. Tony can’t quite stop from bristling. 

“Your testimony was very helpful, Mr. Stark. Your counsel has been championing striking a deal, but I’m afraid I can’t settle this case before hearing from the victim.”

“He won’t tell you anything I haven’t,” Tony manages.

“Oh? Should we check his phone records? Did you two have time to align your stories?”

“We haven’t been in contact since Saturday.”

Or at least, they won’t find any texts or records of calls on either Peter or Tony’s phone. A nice by-product of providing Peter with his very own uplink to JARVIS. 

“Still, his perspective on this will prove invaluable, Mr. Stark – we genuinely cannot proceed without hearing from him.”

Tony scoffs. “Sure you can, you’re the District Attorney’s office! You could decide right now that there’s enough evidence to show I’ve committed a crime, slap me with a fine and a restraining order – hell, even throw in some community service for shits and giggles, the media’s gonna love that. Golly, and what a fine I would be able to pay… How old’s that tech?” Tony nods towards the camera on the ceiling. “Eight years, or only seven? Basically ancient. Could really do with an extensive overhaul.”

“What my client is trying to say –”

“Oh, I get perfectly well what your client’s trying to say, Mrs. Ainsley,” the other woman interrupts. She leans forward, placing one hand on the table for balance, and holds Tony’s gaze for a tense moment. “And I’m curious – how come he only started trying to bribe me when I proposed taking Mr. Parker in for questioning?”

_Damn._

“You’re right, Mr. Stark, I am with the District Attorney’s office. I could do quite a lot. For instance, I could send a patrol car to fetch Mr. Parker from school. Midtown Tech, is it?”

_Don’t react. Don’t take the bait._

“Or even from work. I hear the coffee shop’s quite crowded nowadays.”

Tony grits his teeth. Torres keeps smiling pleasantly. Ainsley watches, curled like a spring and poised to intervene. 

“But that would be juvenile, wouldn’t it? I’ve built my career on not indulging in such ego trips, Mr. Stark, and I’m not going to start with you. What I am going to do, however, is summon the young man. If he wants to testify will be up to him. I’m not going to force myself on him, Mr. Stark.”

The ‘unlike you’ lingers between them and Tony feels bile rise in his throat. It takes every ounce of self-control not to shout at her that he never did, never would, not in a million years. 

Then Torres slips off the table and adds, “I can’t speak for the FBI, however.”

And Tony snaps. 

“Don’t you dare,” he hisses, right at the glass of the one-way mirror, both hands on the table top. “You so much as _look_ at him, Coulson, I’m gonna –”

“What my client is trying to say,” Ainsley intervenes, louder this time, “is that he’s tired and we should –”

“Oh no, this is just getting interesting,” Torres cuts in, crossing her arms and smirking like the cat that cornered the canary. 

Tony’s jaw clicks shut. Fuck, he screwed the pooch, he really did. 

“We’re done here,” he announces, straightens, and buttons up his jacket before striding out of the room. 

He remembers the men’s room from their way to the interrogation and it’s blessedly empty. Tony darts into a stall and locks the cabin, then sinks down onto the closed lid of the toilet, heart racing and vision blurring. 

There’s no version of reality in which he’d manage to stop them from questioning Peter, he realizes. Peter’s too righteous to ignore an official summons and Torres has too much integrity to be swayed by money or politics. What if they’re set on making an example out of him? Putting Tony Stark behind bars would look great in the papers and certainly help any ADA’s career…

Tony wishes he could simply hide in the bathroom forever but that’s definitely not an option. He’s a lot of things but a coward isn’t one of them, so he composes himself as best as he can, flushes and emerges from the cubicle. 

The sight of Phil Coulson leaning against the wall next to the sinks comes as a shock. 

Tony ignores him. Washes his hands. 

There are no more paper towels. 

“Here.” 

Coulson is holding out a handkerchief. A real one, white and soft-looking.

Tony pointedly retrieves his own pocket square to dry his hands. They’re red with ‘T.S.’ embroidered on them in gold. Tony used to have ten of them but two have gone missing since he started sleeping with Peter. 

On his left, Agent Coulson exhales audibly. Tony can’t stop looking up and their eyes meet via the mirror. The man’s face is as expressionless as always. When Coulson speaks, though, his voice is soft. 

“Love is dangerous. No one ever tells you that.” 

Tony spots another drop of water on his ring finger. 

“The Bureau doesn’t want to make an enemy out of you, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony’s hands still. 

“Neither does the government. Obviously you’re not above the law, but you’re also, well, _you_. I personally think that one recession per decade is enough. The DA might be inclined to agree.”

_Huh._

He can’t quite believe his ears – and Tony would bet his Malibu home that Coulson will never ever admit to actually having this conversation – but when he meets Coulson’s gaze again, the agent’s lips are twitching. 

Coulson pockets his handkerchief and crosses the bathroom behind Tony. The door opens and closes. 

Tony stares at his reflection in the mirror. For the first time in the past twelve hours, some of the tension in his neck loosens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I really like this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it as well  <3 
> 
> *returns to her bunker*


	22. twenty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have THE BEST readers! Seriously, folks, your reactions to the past two chapters have blown me away (in addition to the awesome support prior to that) ♥ And since I haven't said it in a while: this wouldn't be half as good without merlenhiver's cheerleading and feedback!
> 
> Here is another longer chapter :) Fun fact: chapters 21 to 23 were about _one sentence_ in my outline. And I wonder why my chapter count estimates are always off? 
> 
> Also, I’m off on a holiday trip with a friend from the 22nd until the 27th. I’m hoping to be able to share **chapter 23** with you on Sunday or Monday, but I can’t guarantee I’ll have the time and/or energy to do so. In case it takes longer, a preemptive Happy Holidays to you all!
> 
> **Please note:** The penal system of New York in real life and the one in the universe of this story differ in some respects. Aka the ‘don’t forget this is fanfic if something strikes you as unauthentic’ disclaimer ;)

Peter stares out the window, watching the grey clouds crawl by. It’s better than checking his laptop, open on a muted WABC-TV livestream, cause he doubts there’s been an update in the past three minutes. 

The overcast sky is at least easier to focus on than the notes on his bed next to him. He’s not able to do complex calculations today, especially not any that remind him of exploding web fluids and – 

Peter closes his eyes. 

Even lying on his bed is tiring. He wishes he could sleep, but it’s been a pointless endeavor. He tried curling up in Tony’s Black Sabbath T-shirt, yet that only made it worse. Putting the red-and-gold pocket squares over his eyes helped, but they smell too much like the penthouse. Everything’s still too fresh and raw in his mind to lull him to sleep. 

A knock on the door. 

It’s May, looking worried. “Adrian brought muffins, Peter. Why don’t you come out and eat one?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve got to eat, sweetie. It’s not healthy.”

He shrugs and turns away from her, but his aunt’s persistent and so he slouches into the kitchen and nibbles on one of the savory muffins Toomes brought them. Thank god the man had to rush across town to meet a friend; Peter doubts he could have stomached his particular brand of social commentary today. 

“Are Ned and MJ coming over later?”

Peter nods. 

“Any chance I can interest you in some lunch before they do?”

“I just had a muffin.”

“You just had _half_ a muffin.” May sighs. “Fine. I’ll check on the shop once they’re here. Ralf sent me a photo, it’s crazy – they’re even lining up on the sidewalk, can you believe it? At least this won’t hurt our business. That’s… something, right?”

_They’re not there for the coffee,_ Peter thinks bitterly, but bites his tongue. His aunt needs any silver lining she can find, what with lawyers and journalists calling non-stop for either an interview or to offer their services. 

Ned and MJ arrive shortly before three. May feeds them muffins and tells them to behave, kisses Peter on the crown of his head, then leaves them to it. 

“School was crazy, dude! Jason from the basketball team asked me if Tony Stark’s your boyfriend – Jason! Jason talked to me! I didn’t say anything, duh. But still!”

Peter chuckles faintly. 

Ned’s grin widens. “See, I told you that would cheer him up!”

“Yes, the tales of your upward mobility are heartwarming,” MJ says with an eye-roll. She takes out a folder from her bag and puts it on the coffee table in front of the couch Peter’s squatting on. “Notes. Homework. Enjoy.”

Peter remembers to murmur a thanks, which turns into a squeak cause MJ is crossing the apartment and heading straight to his room. 

“What’re you – wait!”

Too late. MJ arches an eyebrow at him, then glances back at the mess in his room. 

“Great to see you’ve been using your day off in a productive manner, Parker. Really, A+ on wallowing in teenage angst.”

Peter has wrapped his arms around himself before he realizes what he’s doing, which draws another sigh from MJ. 

“At least tell me you know who filmed you.”

“Huh?”

“What have you been doing all day? There’s a sex tape of you out there and you’re not investigating. Find the flaw in that.”

Peter blinks. With all that’s happened with Tony, he hasn’t really thought about figuring out who caused this… this. “Uh, I’ve been distracted?” he offers. 

MJ throws her hands up and breezes past him again, back into the living room. “I already called Steve for a list of everyone at the wedding. We can narrow down our list of suspects and take it from there.”

“Oh, can I be the guy in the chair?” Ned asks, way too chipper, and to general confusion. “You know, the guy who tells the agents what to do and looks up stuff they need?”

MJ stares at him with almost fond exasperation. “This isn’t a spy movie, Ned. Besides, Peter would make a terrible Eggsy.”

“Hey, I have mad gymnastics skills!”

“I actually meant that as a compliment, Parker.”

“Oh.”

Before MJ can launch into a speech as to what exactly her problem with the _Kingsman_ franchise is, cause she totally has that ‘Listen up, losers’ look on her face, Ned pipes up. “So, who’s our mark? You know, our lead suspect? The perp?” 

“Ugh, this isn’t CSI, either… But he has a point.” MJ squints at Peter. “You obviously didn’t see who filmed you, but do you have a theory?”

Peter flounders. He’s drawing a blank. He honestly can’t imagine anyone who would do such a thing.

“Did Stark mention any of the soldiers? I overheard them complaining at the bar that night – well, I eavesdropped. They’re not too fond of the man. I guess I wouldn’t be either if I believed in military operations. These guys don’t think a good defense is worth anything, even if it is Stark tech.”

Peter can only shrug and shake his head. 

“Oh, I know!” Ned shouts. “That woman! With Mr. Stark, the lady in the dress, the purple one – she totally could have followed him, dude, and then caught you both, you know, in the act, and decided to take revenge!”

MJ considers him. “That’s actually not half-bad.”

Ned does a little victory dance and Peter finds himself smiling again. “Cara Nahar. That’s her name. I don’t think she’ll be on the registry? She’s working for a think tank that –”

“Yeah, I read some of her research,” MJ waves him off. “I can easily email her with questions, maybe set up a meeting for coffee; see if she’s acting fishy or got a new purse or something.”

“And I’ll be the guy in the chair communicating with you!” Ned says. “We’ll get headsets and you can ask me for intel.”

Rather than argue, MJ merely shakes her head, but something catches her eye and she gives a thoughtful hum. “What about Mr. Delmar? Or Mr. Toomes?” 

“What about them?” Peter asks, though he connects the dots moments later. “Oh, you mean… No, Toomes wouldn’t have had the time – I mean, I saw him when I –” He blushes. “It was right after, and he was in the middle of preparing the cake, there’s no way he could have, uh, had the time to, uh, film us.”

“Besides,” Ned adds, “he loves Peter too much. He’d never hurt him like this.”

Which is a reminder Peter definitely didn’t need. 

Steve rings their doorbell not soon after. He’s in civilian clothes, supposedly enjoying two more days off with his husband. 

“Nah, it’s fine. I want to help make this right,” he tells Peter when he points that out. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am this happened, Peter. I’m ashamed we invited anyone who’d stoop so low and…”

“No, it’s not your fault, seriously, it’s fine – or, not fine, but…” Peter trails off with what he hopes is an eloquent shrug. 

“Yeah,” Ned says, “it was probably someone totally random, like someone from the staff. Wouldn’t whoever sold it have made a fortune?”

Steve’s brow furrows. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t be too sure. If all they wanted was a quick buck, wouldn’t it have been more lucrative to just go to Stark and blackmail him? He has more money than any news station.”

“Point,” MJ agrees. “We should focus on motive. Doesn’t mean someone from the staff couldn’t have one, though.” 

“I’m telling you, we gotta look into Cara Nahar,” Ned says. “She’d have motive!”

“Who?” 

Peter leaves explaining their theory to MJ and Ned cause the doorbell rang. Peter expects it to be Mr. Delmar, who’ll want to have the containers back in which he packed them some leftovers from the wedding. It’s the perfect opportunity to surreptitiously question the man, so he opens the door without checking through the viewer. 

It’s not Mr. Delmar. 

It’s a police officer. 

“Uh, hello, um, just a sec,” Peter stammers, then calls out, “Steve?” 

Luckily the cop at the door, a round woman whose name tag reads ‘Officer Rodriguez’, knows Steve and they exchange some pleasantries before she reveals she’s here to ask Peter to come into the station for questioning. 

“You don’t have to,” Steve says immediately. “You have the right to refuse.”

“Well, yes,” Rodriguez says. 

She’s about to continue when Steve wonders, “So they’re done questioning Stark?” 

“As far as I know.” Rodriguez shrugs. “Probably let him sneak out through the back. I heard the station’s crawling with paps.” She turns her attention back to Peter. “You could come by the one in your precinct, ADA Torres asked me to be clear about that. And Steve’s right, your testimony would be voluntary. But if you refuse, Mr. Parker, the ADA is going to decide on whether or not to press charges without hearing your side of the story.”

“Ch-charges?” 

Rodriguez nods. 

Peter feels cold all over. His head’s a mess of conflicting thoughts – the evidence against Tony is circumstantial, he knows that, but Tony told him not to lie and he remembers the defeat in his eyes, knows instinctively that Tony’s not gonna perjure himself, he’d be stupid to take that risk and god, why did Peter have to be so selfish back then? If he’d just waited until his birthday before his first blow job, none of this would have happened. Tony would never have blurred the lines himself, cause he _knew_ they were breaking the law – he only started after Peter sucked him off in the penthouse that night. 

He can’t just sit idly by and let Tony take the fall. Not testifying would probably be the wise thing to do, cause his statement might end up making everything worse. Not to mention that, legally speaking, no one cares that he gave enthusiastic consent – but if there’s a chance the Assistant District Attorney might be more reasonable because of it… 

Peter can’t risk Tony going to prison for his own lack of impulse control. 

MJ and Ned and Steve are all talking at him, he realizes, but he didn’t hear them over the buzz of his thoughts. 

Rodriguez is ignoring them, too. She sees Peter as the victim, he can tell from the way she looks at him. She probably has children; there’s a wedding ring on her finger. 

Peter clears his throat. “When would I need to come in?”

“First thing tomorrow would be great. How does eight-thirty sound?”

For a moment, the world slows down. He could still change his mind… but would Peter be able to live with himself? 

“Eight-thirty sounds good,” he tells the officer, who leaves after wishing them a good day. 

As soon as the door shuts, the others round on him. 

“Why would you do that, Parker, seriously –”

“That’s so cool, dude! You’re gonna give a statement, like on TV!”

Steve has crossed his arms and is radiating suspicion. “Peter,” he begins, but Peter interrupts him before he can voice his thoughts. 

“No, I won’t, Steve, I swear. I know that would be bad and illegal and, uh… I’m not gonna do that. He, uh, he made me promise. Not to, I mean.”

_You will, under no circumstances, lie to the police or the court. Just, no._

The memory makes his eyes sting. 

“When did he…” Steve begins but doesn’t finish.

“I, uh, I need the loo,” Peter mumbles, and flees to the bathroom. 

He’s allowed to hide for a full three minutes before someone knocks on the door. 

“It’s me,” Steve says, voice muffled. “You wanna talk about it?” 

Peter forces his leg to stop jiggling. Steve should be home with his husband and enjoying married life, not worry about him. 

But that’s exactly what Steve does, cause he keeps talking. “I know it looks dire right now, Peter. But four years in prison is only the maximum sentence; when they charge him it’s gonna be a non-violent felony and with the right lawyer he might even get next to no jail time.”

It doesn’t sound like Steve believes himself either. Peter lets his head fall back against the tiled wall across from the sink. Right, like any ADA is gonna let Tony Stark off the hook with nothing but a fine. The corruption accusations would write themselves. 

“Sure,” Steve continues after a beat, “he’s probably gonna have to register as a sex offender, but that won’t have a negative impact on his life. He has job security. And a home.”

“And a reputation,” Peter points out – has to, cause Steve won’t think that’s so important but after being on the receiving end of one too many rants about public perception, sales figures and stock prices, Peter can imagine the backlash an entry in the registry is going to cause. 

At Steve’s “Yeah?”, Peter opens the door. 

“There’s protestors at his doorstep almost every day. Can you imagine what they’d do if Tony’s convicted of a sex crime? Or, or if he gets leniency? No one’s gonna believe he didn’t buy his way out and the ADA isn’t going to want to seem like people can just pay her off.”

He can’t quite read Steve’s expression, which doesn’t sit well with him. 

“But with me on the record… It’ll look like an informed decision. Or, uh, more of one.”

Steve is silent for another moment. “You’re hoping to sway them.”

Peter blushes. Of course Steve sees right through him. 

“It’ll be hard, Peter – you’re a kid in their eyes.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah, and that attitude’s not helping.”

“What would? Help, I mean?”

Steve runs a hand across his face with a sigh. “Fine. Come on. I’m sure MJ also knows a thing or two about interrogation techniques.”

*

That night, sleep eludes him. The row he had with his aunt is still replaying in his mind on an endless loop.

_“You can’t go in there by yourself, you need a lawyer.”_

_“I didn’t do anything wrong –”_

_“But Stark did, there was a guy at the shop who said you’re entitled to damages in civil court –”_

_“They just want to sue a billionaire, May, they don’t care about us! And he didn’t damage me!”_

Peter hugs the pillow. He hates fighting with her and does his best to avoid it but it’s like navigating a mine field at the moment. Perhaps she’s feeling guilty? For not realizing what was going on? Which is ridiculous – Peter did everything he could to hide it, after all. 

She’ll accompany him to the station tomorrow. That one was nonnegotiable, unfortunately, but part of Peter is glad she’ll be there. The prospect is unsettling enough as it is since he has no idea what Tony told them. How detailed he was, or whether he kept it to the cliff notes. Peter doesn’t want to give too much away cause then they’ll just see him as a pathetic teenager with a crush, though if he tells them too little then Tony might come across as, well, as the predator they’re trying to make him out to be. 

With a huff, Peter grabs his phone from his nightstand and clears his throat. 

“Hey, uh, Mr. JARVIS. I’m sorry to bother you, I know it’s late – not that I think you’re sleeping, sorry, just, um, I’m sure you’ve got lots more important things to do so I’ll be quick…”

The screen doesn’t change. Peter keeps going. 

“It’s just, I was wondering – oh, I’m going to give a statement tomorrow, I should’ve led with that, sorry! I think it’ll help, you know, if I show them my side of things. I googled the ADA and she seems really fair and I hope that I’ll… not _influence_ her cause that would be bad, if she let herself be influenced, right, but, uh – sorry, I’m rambling at you, Mr. JARVIS. I swear I have a reason to bug you. Ha, bug, do you – wait, do you have a sense of humor? Never mind, sorry, I’m –” 

Peter takes a deep breath. 

“I really need to talk to Tony. I gotta know what he tol- or how much, I mean, how much detail and, uh, stuff… and I miss him,” he adds for good measure. 

It feels good admitting it out loud, even if it’s just to an AI. The again, probably no one is as close to Tony as the AI, so it’s – never mind, Peter’s getting off track again. Why is he so nervous about this? 

“Okay, sorry, Mr. JARVIS. For real this time. I know I can’t call Tony directly or text him or anything cause they can access his phone records and I don’t want to force you to alter them or something cause I’m sure you could –” 

“As a matter of fact, Mr. Parker,” the AI interrupts, “I could not.”

“Uh, sorry, what?” 

“There is a complex set of protocols in place that govern my actions. Sir calls them the ‘Anti-HAL protocols’. As a result, I would be unable to alter official phone records unless explicitly told to do so using manual overrides. Mr. Stark used this means to alter both the phone records and CCTV footage from last Sunday night. Unless you are in possession of said override codes, I would not be able to alter official records on your behest.”

“Oh.”

That’s actually pretty soothing, if Peter’s being honest. He’s been worried that making JARVIS just erase call history and text messages would make him learn that’s acceptable behavior and incorporate it into his subroutines. The last thing Peter wants is to be the one to kick off Skynet. 

“Um. So,” he continues after a moment. “My question. What did Tony tell them about the, uh, stuff we did before my birthday? I don’t wanna tell them too much. Or too little! That’d be bad. They gotta see the full picture, you know, not just the, uh, the dry facts.”

No response. 

“I’m asking so I can help Tony, Mr. JARVIS, please, you have to see that.” 

Finally, the lock screen blurs again and Peter breathes a sigh of relief. 

JARVIS is really helpful, in an efficient way. He gives Peter an actual list of instances Tony mentioned in the interrogation but doesn’t let Peter take notes cause it would be suspicious if Peter suddenly developed an eidetic memory or something. 

Tony basically told them everything, from the frottage to the blowjobs. What he didn’t tell them, however, are things like Steve finding out, as Peter suspected. As a police officer, Steve would technically have been required by law to report Tony... which, oh, might be part of the reason for Steve’s hovering earlier that day, Peter suddenly realizes. 

“How is he?” Peter asks once JARVIS sounds like he’s finished. “Tony, I mean.”

“Mr. Stark is currently catching up on some much-needed rest.”

“Oh, good, that’s good.” Peter worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “Can you tell him that I’m doing this to help? And that I won’t lie, like he asked me to. I wish he could watch – oh, he could, I mean, you can access the footage, can’t you, Mr. JARVIS? You can. If, uh, if Tony wants to check.”

“I shall relay your message once Mr. Stark is properly rested.”

“Yeah, yes! Of course, I wasn’t...” Peter stops himself. “And... tell him I miss him?”

“I will add that information.”

_Information._ The AI makes it all sound so cold. 

“Thank you, Mr. JARVIS.”

There’s no response. The phone display has gone dark again.

*

May’s more nervous than he is. She hasn’t brought up the lawyer again but she’s rubbing circles into her thigh in the waiting area next to him. 

He’s almost glad when Detective Wong greets them along with ADA Torres because that means the anticipation is finally over. Not that Peter is able to relax all of a sudden when they enter the interrogation room, not even when ADA Torres thanks him profusely for volunteering before explaining the procedure and that he can leave at any moment. 

“Please tell us when either Detective Wong or I make you feel uncomfortable. We want to make this as painless as possible for you, Mr. Parker.” 

_Too late for that,_ Peter thinks bitterly. 

“You’re doing us a favor, after all, by shedding some light on the situation.” 

The way Torres says it sounds like Tony’s testimony was ambiguous but Peter knows for a fact that’s not the case. Do they want to catch him in a lie? Or do they suspect Tony lied to them? 

As overwhelming as it was yesterday, Peter’s glad MJ and Steve gave him a quick run-down of Interrogation Techniques 101.

And Wong apparently scored the role of Bad Cop in all of this.

The Detective opens the laptop on the table in front of him and half a minute later turns the screen toward Peter. He hits play without further comment. 

It’s the video. 

It starts with kissing and Peter’s back connecting with the desk. It’s weird, weird and painful, to watch himself, see Tony be rough from an outside point of view, all the while remembering how awesome it was. 

He still has shadows of the bruises on his hips. 

Peter forces himself to focus on the ambient sound, the framing, possible reflections – anything that might hint at who’s holding the camera phone – but he doesn’t spot anything. Whoever held the camera was either meticulous about not giving away their identity or spent some time editing the footage. 

The recording isn’t overly long – just six minutes in total. They didn’t last long, not after all the tension during the wedding, and the memory has Peter smile. He tries to fight it cause he can feel the Detective’s eyes flicker towards him every few seconds but can’t quite manage the presence of mind right now, not when he’ll only get one chance to see the video and check for clues. 

Torres is openly watching Peter, which he only notices once the clip stops, freezing on Tony still buried inside of him and both breathing heavily. Even on screen Peter can see the happy bubble they had around them that night, but everyone else in the room’s got to be blind. Torres looks like she just witnessed a despicable crime, Wong like he bit into a lemon. 

It’s Wong who picks up the interrogation. “Can you confirm, Mr. Parker, that this video shows you on the night of May nineteenth?”

“Yes. Do you know who filmed it?”

“We’re asking the questions, Mr. Parker.”

Oh yeah, definitely Bad Cop. Peter turns his most innocent expression on Torres, who purses her lips.

“I’m afraid we don’t have that information yet.” 

Score one for Peter.

With a scowl, Wong pulls up a different video, this time showing Peter explain to Tony he needs to be a taste tester to get one of the pastries. After that’s it’s Tony’s speech at the opening of the remodeled _Hybrid Puppy_ , telling them all how vital Peter’s been to the work. Then Wong goes through a folder of Instagram posts and Tweets, all placing Tony at _The Hybrid Puppy_. He ends on a picture from Tony’s second visit. 

“Is this the first time Mr. Stark came to your shop?”

Peter counts to two before replying. “No.” 

“Then when did the two of you meet?” 

“The evening before. Tony came in shortly before closing and ordered coffee. He liked the brew – we, uh, we make our own blends.” 

“And he came back for more?” 

“More coffee, yes.” 

It’s difficult not to grin. He knows what Wong is doing and he’s not playing. 

The Detective apparently catches on to that as well and heaves a sigh. “So Mr. Stark didn’t flirt with you?”

“Oh, he did,” Peter says, “but he flirts with everyone.” 

“That didn’t strike you as peculiar?”

“Well, um... a bit? I mean, I’m just a barista. He’s, you know...” 

“When did you realize he was serious in his advances?” 

Peter shrugs. 

“When did you start having sex?” 

“Uh, what do you define as sex, Detective?” Peter asks. It’s fun to see Wong glare at him. 

“Alright, let me clarify Mr. Parker: When did you first kiss?”

“Kissing isn’t sex.” 

Wong concedes the point with a reluctant nod. 

“What about blow jobs, then? They’re sex, wouldn’t you agree? When did you and Mr. Stark first engage in oral sex?”

“When I asked if I could, uh, blow him. I’d been thinking about it a lot and I really wanted to and so... It was, um, early November, I think?” 

From then on, it’s pretty cut-and-dry. Peter doesn’t have to pretend he can’t remember everything a hundred percent and his “I’m sorry”s earn him points with ADA Torres. He’s sure to stress how enthusiastic his consent was – and seeing Wong’s nose wrinkle in thinly veiled disgust is probably worth at least two points. 

“So, let me get this straight, Mr. Parker,” Wong says. “You convinced Mr. Stark to engage in oral sex with you but agreed to wait with any penetrative acts until you’d reached the age of consent.”

“Uh, I wouldn’t say ‘convinced’, sir – I mean, he wanted to but he said we should wait and I, well, I –” 

“Listen up, boy, you can cut the act,” Wong suddenly snubs. “We know about the handjobs. The ones you somehow failed to mention. Mr. Stark told us all about what you’d get up to between the sheets – you really got him wrapped around your little finger, haven’t you? And now you’re playing all coy and trying to show us it was actually you who did the seducing to, to what, get him off in a different sense of the word? You’re quite clever, Mr. Parker, I’ll give you that.”

“Wha– I don’t…” is all Peter manages through his confusion. What the hell is Wong implying? 

“You could have just seduced him and blackmailed him,” Wong suggests. “But it’s not about the money for you, is it? It’s not about putting Stark in prison, either, so that got us thinking… It’s about the bigger picture, isn’t it? Does Mr. Stark know you associate with left extremists?”

Peter gapes at him, but he wouldn’t have been able to get a word in edgewise even if he’d been able to think of something. 

“You’re friends with Michelle Williams, a classmate of yours, aren’t you? She’s been quite vocal about how much she despises Stark Industries on certain online platforms.”

Wong pulls a printed-out essay from the paper file in front of him and slides it across the table. Peter remembers that one – MJ spent a solid week writing it in reaction to Tony’s slip-up during the live interview with John Oliver. Sure, it’s critical and stuff, but _extremist_? 

“I’m not friends with her because of her political views,” Peter finally manages, though his voice is faint. 

Wong’s eyebrows rise towards his hairline. “So you didn’t hatch a plan together to topple Stark Industries wherein you staged a steamy encounter that could be recorded and then sold by Miss Williams? While you yourself still remain in Stark’s good graces by not suing him and talking to us about how consensual it all was?”

“What – no! Of course not!” 

“You see, I have a hard time believing you just _happened_ to fall into bed with a billionaire, Mr. Parker, who then just _happened_ to invest in your guardian’s struggling coffee shop, the year after you were forced to decline a summer internship with Mr. Stark’s biggest competitor. Now you have a new phone and a new laptop on top of a booming business venture that’s also going to profit immensely from the scandal. Worked out pretty well for you, didn’t it?”

“I’m not with him for the money!” 

“Oh, so you know him ‘for real’?” Wong sneers, air quotes and all. “Great boyfriend material, then, is he?”

“Yes!” 

Peter meant to shout but his voice ended up breaking, even on one syllable. Because yes, Tony is, and Peter was in so deep that he doesn’t know how to go on alone now and everything hurts so freaking much and – 

And he’s sure his emotional turmoil is written clearly all over his face. For some reason, however, that makes Wong smirk and lean back against the plastic chair. The sudden shift in atmosphere is unsettling, to say the least, and Peter wishes he could just leave but he doesn’t feel like he’s done this right. He needs to see this through, for Tony’s sake. 

“Mr. Parker.”

The ADA’s voice startles him. She has stood up and stepped around the table towards him. Her eyes are soft and warm. Peter looks back down at his hands. 

“I’m sorry we upset you. Detective Wong had to follow every possible lead, I’m sure you understand that.”

Peter nods, not looking up. 

“I consider myself a very fair Assistant District Attorney, Mr. Parker. I’m grateful you were brave enough to come to us and explain your side of the story.”

“So, uh…” Peter has to pause and clear his throat. “So you’ll strike a deal?”

When he meets the woman’s gaze, he spots it. The pity. 

“That’s none of your concern, Mr. Parker. You need to focus on yourself.” 

“He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Torres’s expression hardens. “He had sex with a minor. He broke the law.”

It hits Peter, then – she’s going for jail time. 

She’s going to charge Tony and negotiate a prison sentence. 

“The law is stupid!” he says, jumping to his feet. The chair scrapes across the floor with a screech but it could hit the floor for all he cares. “What, I can drive a car at sixteen and possibly hit people with it when I’m driving but I don’t get to decide who I want to sleep with? That’s ridiculous! You’re gonna ruin someone’s life for an outdated law –”

“You were a child, Mr. Parker,” Torres interrupts. 

“No, I wasn’t,” he snaps, which has both Torres and Wong’s faces turn quizzical. 

Peter’s only too happy to go on. “I was in school all day and then I was working and even if I didn’t have to help my aunt, do you have any idea how much effort school is right now? And then we gotta think about colleges and work and debt and mortgages, and I was exhausted all the time and my grades were falling but then I met Tony and he made everything better. He treated me like a person and respected me and taught me so much, just because he took me seriously and saw that I was talented. And sure, he had ulterior motives when he invested but he never does anything he doesn’t believe in – anyone who spends, like, three minutes with him knows that, so he invested because he thought it’s a good idea and he was right! Yeah, we’ve been doing really well but that means I don’t need to work so much anymore cause we could hire more people. I could join the Decathlon team again and go back to Robotics Lab and my grades are better and I’ve been, well, happy – all because of Tony.”

Peter takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “And I get that you can’t not charge him cause we did break the law, yeah, but Tony doesn’t deserve to go to jail for being a decent person. And if you’re really as fair as you say you are, you’ll see that, too.”

Wong and Torres are stunned into silence. Peter’s pulse is racing and he really wants to leave now but storming out would probably ruin the impact of all that he just said. The Detective’s sneering but the ADA’s brow is creased – seems like he’s truly given her something to think about. 

It’s Torres who speaks up first. “Well. You make a solid argument. I’ll be sure to consider it in my deliberations.”

Peter doesn’t dare say anything else cause he’d certainly ruin the effect, so he just nods and motions to the door. Torres thanks him again and sends him off. 

Outside, Peter closes his eyes for a moment and tries to calm down before May sees him in this state, but it’s difficult. Did he just save Tony from doing time or did he make everything worse?

* 

_“Breaking news: This just in, the State of New York is pressing charges against Tony Stark. A judge issued a warrant for his arrest at 11.32 this morning, following a TV segment that accused the billionaire of statutory rape –”_

_“An update for our viewers in the Stark case: a police vehicle has reportedly stopped in front of Stark Tower. This comes an hour after the announcement from Assistant District Attorney Torres that charges have been –”_

_“Stark Industries CEO Pepper Potts has called out the DA’s office for unfair treatment. In a tweet she criticized the time gap between the warrant and the arrest as a ‘vindictive PR stunt’, designed to publically shame Mr. Stark –”_

_“There appears to be movement at Stark Tower. We’re going live to –”_

Peter stops wearing a hole through the floor behind the sofa and stares at the television. May is at _The Hybrid Puppy_ battling the onslaught of customers so he didn’t need to hole up in his room but having a bigger screen to watch might not have been the best idea. 

The network switches to the live feed of one of their anchors. She’s saying something but Peter doesn’t hear a word. He can see Tony in the distance, emerging from the front doors of Stark Tower, a police officer right behind him. 

He’s in cuffs. 

The crowd of onlookers goes wild – Peter can’t make out individual words but judging from the tone it’s ugly. 

Tony ignores them all. The sunglasses are helping, Peter knows from Tony’s explanations, and he’s wearing one of his more casual suits; dark blue, one button, no waistcoat but a tie that’s been loosened. Tony does that when he’s nervous and then forgets to fix it most times – but Peter tries not to dwell on that mental image cause it’s painful enough as it is that he couldn’t just go to the Tower and be there for Tony in the hour it took for the NYPD to show up. 

And just like that, Tony’s maneuvered into the back of the police car.

Thanks to Steve, Peter knows exactly what’s going to happen now. Tony will be processed, fingerprints and mugshot and all. Peter hopes Tony won’t be cocky or the entire thing’s gonna take even longer than it needs to, but he can’t imagine Tony dialing back his comments today of all days. 

It’ll take several hours before they’ll move him to Central Booking in the courthouse, where he’ll get to meet his lawyer and, well, wait. 

Peter honestly can’t imagine how Tony’s going to survive whatever counts as ‘without unnecessary delay’ in police custody – he could technically go up to forty-eight hours with no phone or notepad or anything to busy himself with. 

Or how he himself is going to survive going back to school tomorrow when any moment could bring news about the case. 

*

The sound of heels in the hallway startles Tony upright. These cots are horrible for his back but if he walks the narrow dimensions of the holding cell one more time he’s either gonna break down or break the hell out of this room.

“Enjoyed the sandwich?” Ainsley asks with a nod to the empty plate. 

“No, but since the entertainment program in this facility is somewhat lacking, I figured I might as well eat. Haven’t eaten this regularly in ages – who’d have guessed, prison’s good for my health!”

Yeah, Tony passed ‘cynical’ when he woke up in a freaking holding cell. 

“You’re not in prison yet, Mr. Stark.” 

And Ainsley is definitely not fond of his babbling but cut him some slack, okay? He’s been on his own without any means of distraction for almost twenty-four hours now. Of course he’ll jammer away at someone he actually pays to listen. 

“Gee, I’m not? Oh right, I doubt there’ll be a pay phone in my prison cell.” 

Tony glares at the one in this room, which has been sitting in the corner, taunting him. Like anyone knows any numbers by heart anymore, it’s ridiculous. Good thing Ainsley made him remember hers and take actual quarters with him when news broke of the charges. She also had some invaluable tips like not being a smartass to the cops or guards which Tony had no chance of ever following. 

Then they spent a solid hour waiting for the police to show up. That alone should count for ‘time served’, really. Somehow, though, neither Ainsley nor Pepper appreciated that joke. Pity. 

Tony will never forget Pepper’s expression when the officer cuffed him. 

“They set a time for your arraignment hearing.”

Ainsley’s announcement pulls him back into the present.

“Oh?”

“It’s tomorrow morning, between eleven and eleven-forty-five am.”

“What?!” Tony’s back on his feet and striding up and down the narrow space. “I’ve been here since last night! You gotta be shitting me –”

“Afraid not.”

“They’re really milking this for all they can, aren’t they, these little fuckers. Bet they’re getting a real kick outta this. Let’s wait till the entire time zone’s on lunch break to arrest Stark so everyone can retweet the shit out of it and then let’s take our sweet time processing him and oh, I know what’ll be even better, let’s file some flimsy excuse for a motion to justify dragging this out – no, we’re not being vindictive dicks, your honor. We’re only acting in Mr. Stark’s best interest in closing the courtroom to the public, aren’t we nice? Oh, motion granted, you say? Great, now we get to lock him up for another night! Just cause we can, ain’t that hilarious? Who’s bringing the nachos?” 

“Are you quite done?”

Tony considers going on, but curiosity gets the better of him – that’s Ainsley’s ‘I have more to say’ tone. 

“There’s a silver lining to this: I get more time to negotiate with Torres.”

Tony snorts at that. “Cause that’s been going so well. Splendid, I’d say. _Awesome_ ,” he adds, because he’s been thinking about Peter a lot.

Wonderful Peter who got right in the face of those patronizing authority figures. For all that Tony struggled with himself about whether or not to watch the kid’s interview, he’s really glad he did. Every second was a reminder that he failed to protect Peter from all this but... the kid was awesome. 

Unfortunately his passionate speech didn’t suddenly make ADA Torres realize the error of her ways and let Tony go. Instead, she seems set on a prison sentence.

“I have her down to six months, Mr. Stark. We started with eighteen. Trust me to do my job, sir.” 

“I trusted you to do your job two days ago.”

“If you think you can do better, by all means, Mr. Stark, try going head-to-head with Torres yourself. These things take finesse. This isn’t 2002 anymore; you can’t just buy your way out of a pesky DUI.” 

_Too bad._ Life was so much easier before the twenty-four-hour news cycle. And whistleblower culture. 

Ainsley smiles at him. It’s small but sincere so that’s gotta count for something. “Look. I’m going to try another strategy. A higher fine is clearly not doing the trick. They want to see you humiliated –”

“Oh, you don’t say,” Tony sneers with an eye-roll. 

“– so I’ll just have to find a way to satisfy them that won’t involve strip searches. But I’m not a miracle worker, Mr. Stark. Please remember that.”

Ainsley leaves him for a sandwich of her own and another round of chess with Torres. 

The arraignment court is on duty until midnight, technically, and Tony would bet his car collection that some judge or other could fit him in before that. However, that would rob the city’s executive branch of the joy that is locking Tony Stark up for as long as filing whatever paperwork they’re pulling out of their asses takes to exhaust the maximum of forty-eight hours they’re legally entitled to. 

Ugh. And he’s only made it through twenty-four so far. 

The minutes trickle by at a snail’s pace. Seriously, Tony can _feel_ his brain cells atrophy. 

*

“Ey, Penis Parker.”

Peter groans – he survived half the school day avoiding Flash like the plague (and ran into every other bully at Midtown because of it, but that’s not the point) and they even went so far as to hide in the Decathlon room for lunch which… 

Huh. Maybe that’s what gave them away. 

“Insults are not the same as nicknames, you know,” MJ points out, glaring from behind her bio-degradable lunch box. 

Flash just smiles as he walks further into the room without closing the door. “It’s so cute that you have your own guard dog, Parker.”

“She’s not a –”

“I know, Leeds, it was a freaking metaphor. No one asked you to weigh in on this discussion.”

“And yet you wonder why you’re always benched at team activities,” MJ comments in that cold way of hers that’s more insulting than any slur could ever be. “Guess being a dick in front of your team captain isn’t helping either.”

“That’s just how I roll,” Flash sneers, then turns to Peter who braces himself.

He’s been wondering which fraction of the student body Flash will fall into. That he’s talking directly to him pretty much excludes the Whisperers who seriously need to adjust their definition of ‘out of earshot’ cause Peter tends to hear every vicious thing they’re saying. 

There’ve also been a number of disgusted stares by what Peter’s come to call the Eww Squad – but just as many awed ones. Only a remaining handful of students have been brave enough to openly make fun of him. 

Peter has dubbed them the Douchebags. He hates those the most. ‘Did Tony Stark really make you suck his dick in his workshop?’ hit so close to home, it’s basically in ruins now. Things like that would just roll off Tony, he thinks, but his own skin’s by no means thick enough to not have him hide in the bathroom at regular intervals. 

The creepiest portion of Midtown Tech, however, are the pupils who tried swapping sex stories with Peter. He never imagined his first – forced – contact with a cheerleader to be about blow job techniques. Or that Colton from the Pride Club would try to quiz Peter on how ‘big’ Tony is. 

Needless to say, it’s been the worst school day of Peter’s life, and that includes highlights like being locked into a janitor closet once in middle school. 

He’s also never been this punctual to class.

Which doesn’t really help when your econ teacher pointedly uses Stark Industries examples throughout their lesson. 

And now… Flash. 

Who caught them in the middle of planning their investigation. 

“What’re you up to?”

“Uh, nothing?” Peter winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth. 

MJ gives him a flat look while Flash laughs. “It’s cute you think that’d work on anyone. So, Parker, answer me this.”

Peter braces himself. 

“Are we still on for this afternoon?”

“Huh?”

“Our project,” Flash clarifies. “We only have until Monday to finish.”

“Wh- but we have until Memorial Day!”

“Guess what Monday is, Parker.” Flash awards him one of his patented ‘Oh you idiot mortal’ look that’s almost as intense as MJ’s while Peter realizes that yes, indeed, it’s almost the end of May. “Great. Now that you’ve returned to our timeline,” Flash continues, “can I get a yay or nay on today?”

“Yay or…” Oh, he remembers. Wednesday’s the only free afternoon they both have and they made plans. “We, we can’t go to the shop,” he rushes to say. “It’s been, uh…”

“Swarming with gawkers, yes, I saw pictures online. We’ll go some place else.”

“I don’t think I should be in public,” Peter points out, which MJ echoes with a “Duh,” if only to annoy Flash, who heaves a sigh. 

“Obviously. Did I, at any point, suggest we take our business outside? No. For someone who has such great taste in boyfriends, Parker – fake or otherwise ¬– you’re quite obtuse sometimes.”

“… uh, thank you?” Peter blinks. That sounded like a compliment. Also, it’s the first direct jab Flash took at him – what the hell? 

“And I’m not driving to Queens, so don’t bother suggesting it. We’ll get the stuff after school; I’m sure you’ll manage to sneak into your own coffee shop, even you can’t be that useless. Then we’ll just go to my place.”

“Y-your place?”

“Don’t sound so terrified, Parker. I think we’ve firmly established that I’m not going to seduce you. Or pester you for details.” Flash fakes a shudder. 

Peter ignores that. Finishing the art project beats pretending to do homework with the TV on in the living room until Steve returns from work and Peter can ask him about the other suspe- uh, _guests_ , at the wedding.

“Uh, okay? Or, yay?” Peter says, which has Flash strut out of the room as quickly as he came. 

“Dude! You’re going to his lair!”

“Why would he have a lair?”

“He’s your nemesis, man,” Ned explains. “Course he has a lair.” 

“And I’m sure you have a very logical explanation for that,” MJ says before Ned can go on, “we were in the middle of something.”

“Were we, though?” Ned wonders. “Peter here’s gonna remain indoors and find out who of the guests might have a motive, while we’re going after Mr. Toomes and Mr. Delmar! Oh, and you keep fangirling at that lady.”

“I’m not fangirling; fangirling’s a derogatory and infantilizing term.”

They bicker for another few minutes which allows Peter to finally finish his lunch. 

He makes it through the afternoon by the skin of his teeth (okay, and hiding in the bathrooms some more). It doesn’t make any sense, really – some of the most vicious comments come from those who were the sweetest during the height of his ‘popularity’ from the taste tester clip. 

So what, telling a forty-eight-year-old billionaire off is cool, but sleeping with one is despicable? Peter doesn’t get it. 

And all this time, Tony’s probably dying of boredom at Central Booking. 

No deal yet. Shit. 

Flash said to meet him one street away from the school cause “I’m not prepared to give you my public seal of approval yet, Parker.”

“Like that’s gonna do anything,” Peter grumbles. He hates how much these Audi seats remind him of sitting in Tony’s driverless ones. 

“I’m sorry, but are we attending the same school? Ha, yeah, I tend to forget you’re still not on Instagram. You know, like the rest of the student body. It’s not cool to shun your community like that, Parker.”

“I’m not shu– ”

“You’re shunning. I, on the other hand, am an influencer. I get fucking brand deals. Pen companies send me their products begging me to include them in one of my #studying photos. That shit pays real money.”

Peter has no idea what to say to that. Or how Flash manages to fit his own ego into the car with him. 

Luckily that’s when they reach … the Upper East Side. Where Flash and his Dad live in an apartment three times the size of Peter and May’s.

Flash smirks at Peter’s obvious awe. “Used to be my Dad, his ex and I, which got a bit crowded at times, but now it’s pretty sweet. Especially since we kept the workout room she made him install.”

“You have a view of Central Park!”

“My father’s in international realty. You can’t sell property for eight figures and live in a shoebox in the Bronx.”

It’ll never cease to amaze Peter how Flash can make the equivalent of ‘Duh’ sound sleazy as hell. 

“Now – water, coffee or soda?”

*

It’s the strangest afternoon of Peter’s life. 

He’s spread out across the Thompsons’s pristine floor tinkering with an art installation under Flash’s directions, checking his phone every view minutes for updates while Tony is in custody waiting for his arraignment. 

When his screen finally lights up with a notification, Peter drops the multi-tool and grabs his phone. 

Even Flash’s head snaps up from where he’s editing the captions. “What?”

Peter has to read the notification three times, then goes to the article and quickly skims it. 

“Tony’s hearing. It’s not until tomorrow.”

Flash’s eyes widen for a moment, but then the shrugs. “Didn’t think they’d have the guts to go that far.”

“It’s unfair –”

“It’s legal,” Flash interrupts. “Now stop pining over your boyfriend and get back to work. We’ll have to clean this up before my father gets home.”

Which they fail to do, since the man returns from work earlier than his son anticipated, and Peter gets a front-row seat to Mr. Thompson being dismissive of both art and PR without realizing how much he’s hurting his own kid. 

_No, not feeling sorry for Flash_ , Peter vows. 

At least not having studied for the Spanish quiz they have tomorrow (an hour before Tony’s hearing, thankfully) allows Peter to decline Mr. Thompson’s polite invitation to stay for dinner. 

Not that he manages to concentrate back home. Steve and Bucky agreed to swing by after work and when they do they come bearing dinner which is awesome cause May called ten minutes earlier to say she’s going to be home late and to make himself something. 

Seeing them being all in love and finishing each other’s sentences when answering Peter’s questions is pretty much the punch in the gut Peter needed after the day he’s had. And on top of all that, they’re still in their uniforms. 

Since Peter’s in no state to analyze all that he learned from Messrs. Rogers-Barnes in the past two hours and neither they nor Flash let him rant about how unfair the arraignment date is, Peter complains to JARVIS. Which prompts a reaction from the AI and startles Peter into dropping his phone. 

Onto the pillow, but still. 

“I’m inclined to agree, Mr. Parker.”

“Oh, uh… thanks.” Peter smiles at his phone, the only source of light in his room at the moment. “Um, did you – do you know anything?”

“I have not been in contact with Mr. Stark since his arrest, seeing as he had to leave both his phone and his watch at the Tower.”

Oh. Peter gulps. He didn’t know an AI could sound sad. He never wants to hear JARVIS sound sad again. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. JARVIS.”

The AI doesn’t reply but the screen remains blurred, so Peter takes that as permission to keep talking, until the sound of May’s return gives him pause.

Focusing on her retreat to the bedroom is a welcome distraction from the worst case scenarios playing out in Peter’s mind, but all too soon the apartment is quiet again. 

Tony’s not out of police custody yet, meaning they still haven’t reached a deal with the ADA. 

“Mr. JARVIS? … I’m worried.”

A pause. For a moment, Peter thinks the AI will ignore him but then –

“My calculations show an eighty-seven percent chance of Mrs. Ainsley reaching an agreement on a plea bargain prior to 11.30 am.”

Eighty-seven percent. That’s good, right? 

“My calculations also show that there is merely a seven percent chance of said deal not including jail time.”

_Shit._

That’s…not as good. Not good at all. 

Peter spends the rest of the night tossing and turning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hits post* 
> 
> *hides in her suitcase*


	23. twenty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still Monday!!! So this still counts as a Christmas/Holiday present, doesn't it? Very much happening in this chapter and I hope you enjoy =)
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful comments, each of them has been a gift that keeps on giving <3 Words will never express how happy it makes me that you're enjoying this so much and also taking the time to let me know.

Peter’s trying to decide whether he needs _dijo_ or _ha dicho_ when he feels his phone vibrate in the pocket of his jeans. 

It’s a news alert, it’s got to be – it’s the only thing Peter switched to vibrate. So this can only be about Tony. 

He’s mid-reach when he stops himself. 

He can’t. He’s writing a Spanish test. 

_No, Parker._

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and grips his pen tighter. 

Even if it’s about the defense and the ADA agreeing on a deal, there won’t be any details, not before the arraignment and the judge actually signing off on the terms Torres and Tony’s lawyers negotiated. Really, no reason to check his phone during a test and risk being caught. That would be stupid. 

But the teacher’s back is turned towards him and there’s the off chance that someone leaked the details of the plea bargain and damn it, Peter can’t stand this for another second. 

_DA reaches deal with Stark’s counsel thirty minutes prior to arraignment, the alert reads._

“Señor Parker.”

 _Oh no._

“Care to explain why you’re using your phone during a test?”

Panicked, Peter’s eyes go from his teacher back to his phone – which is switched off all of a sudden. Did JARVIS just…

“I, uh,” he stammers, handing it over. “I forgot to put it in my bag, sir, I swear it’s turned off, you, um, you can check. It was irritating my leg and distracting me. _Le pido mil perdones_.”

Mr. Peña thumbs at the screen and the volume controls but nothing happens. “I will keep this until the end of the lesson,” he decides, then pointedly glances at the class. “Ten more minutes.”

Peter looks back at his test paper. He settles on _ha dicho_ with a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

*

Even closed to the public, it’s busy as hell in the courtroom. 

Or maybe just hectic: the average arraignment only takes three to five minutes and relies heavily on long-established customs, like waving the reading of the charges since defense lawyers are expected to take care of that before taking their client to the judge. 

Under different circumstances, Tony would appreciate the swift efficiency and refusal to wait for everyday idiots to catch up with the process but he’s on the wrong side of the court room for that. 

The guy being arraigned before him is one of many here without personal defense counsel. He’s also one of the few other white people Tony has spotted throughout his extended stay in custody. 

Peter would probably have something to say about that. 

Tony swallows. At least they have a deal. 

It’s not good. 

But it’s the best Ainsley could do and Tony’s grateful he got at least half an hour to prepare for facing the judge. No amount of training would have allowed him to keep his composure if the first time he heard the sentence were at the hearing. 

If the judge agrees to the conditions, that is. 

“People against Tony Stark,” the bridge officer calls and just like that, Tony’s suddenly in front of the middle-aged judge. 

“Do you waive the reading of the charges?” the officer asks Ainsley. 

“Yes.”

Tony forces himself to keep breathing while the judge pages through the file in front of him and then asks for notices, which has Torres and Ainsley dive into a rapid presentation of legalese that can’t be anything but choreographed. 

Ainsley’s offer for him to do this himself feels like a threat in retrospect. 

It’s only been three minutes before the judge pointedly says, “Now, I heard there’s a deal on the table?”

Tony’s stomach twists into knots. 

Torres is the one who presents the conditions Ainsley fought so hard for along with a form detailing the specifics. Tony watches the judge throughout. He’s never been more grateful for the lack of cameras stuck in his face. 

One prolonged glance is all he gets. 

Five seconds of attention from this paunchy man with the power to either okay their deal or rip it to shreds and go with his own brand of justice. 

The disinterest is weirdly comforting. 

“Alright,” the judge sighs. “How does the defendant plead?”

Tony has faced Senators and Federal Hearings, has held his ground with the President of the United States… but today’s the first time he needs to clear his throat before answering. 

“Guilty, your honor.”

The judge consults the written agreement. 

He’s accepting it. 

_“He might not,” Ainsley told him just half an hour ago. “It’s in his power to reject, either in part or completely, any conditions we’ve negotiated. If that happens, or actually, no matter what happens, please, Mr. Stark: Do. Not. React.”_

Not reacting is impossible. Tony’s sure some of his emotions make it to the surface. He can feel a faint burning sensation in his eyes that he quickly pushes down. 

Nine months… on probation. 

A fine of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. 

Registering as a Level One sex offender. 

Tony can handle that. Tony can handle anything that keeps him out of prison, really. 

Even eighty hours of community service with the New York Department of Sanitation. At least he gets to be indoors for all of them, not cleaning the streets in the hideous DSNY uniforms cause first delaying his hearing in order to ‘protect his privacy’ and then having him sweep in plain view of every New Yorker would have been the epitome of hypocrisy on Torres’s part. 

There’s one condition, however, that truly turns this into a punishment. And ADA Torres knows that just too well. 

“Furthermore,” the judge says, “the State of New York issues an Order of Protection against the defendant, prohibiting any and all contact with the victim.”

Tony closes his eyes. 

Victory isn’t supposed to feel like this. 

*

“You gonna sit there all day, Parker?”

Peter wants to grumble back a “Yeah,” but that would require more energy than he can muster right now. 

“But he’s not going to prison, dude! That’s – I thought that’s good…”

Peter shrugs, shifting on the hard wood of the bleachers. It’s lunch so no one’s practicing or watching from the side. He’s as alone as he can be without leaving school grounds and it feels better than locking himself into a bathroom stall again. Peter’s sick of hiding. 

Heaving a sigh, MJ sits down next to him and looks out across the empty field. “Oh yeah. Premium spot for high-quality moping. Makes me wanna join you.”

Ned blinks at her for a second until the sarcasm registers. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with her. 

The two of them want to talk about their latest discoveries, Peter guesses, since they only had a couple of minutes between lessons and then Peter skipped last period entirely cause sitting in class and waiting for JARVIS to switch his phone back on – or worse, the AI waiting until the bell rang – would have been hellish. 

Like this, he got a blow-by-blow account of the arraignment since a member of one of the other defendant’s families managed to live-tweet the entire thing. Peter knows the Twitter thread by heart now. 

“Peter.” Ned’s voice is surprisingly subdued. “I’m sorry about the restraining order. Order of Protection, whatever. That sucks, dude.”

“Yeah,” he echoes. “Thanks, man.” He feels hollow and angry at the same time but it’s different somehow, like the anger’s just simmering below the surface. 

“Alright, bromance moment over? Can we talk about the investigation now?” 

It’s Peter’s turn to heave a sigh. 

The last thing Peter wants right now is to discuss how to continue their investigation. MJ hasn’t met Cara Nahar yet but Mr. Delmar gruffly condemned whoever took and sold the video when Ned bought a sandwich in his shop. “If anyone did that to my daughter, they should hide. I have a gun.”

But Toomes could say the same thing… Did, too, in fact, when Ned pretended to buy croissants for drama club. Though when MJ swung by on her way back from rehearsal to return the containers Toomes lent Ned, she ran into May – which Peter found out earlier that day at breakfast. Apparently deciding on how to handle the insane amount of Scandal Tourists (cause Peter has no delusions that they visit the _Hybrid Puppy_ for the coffee) turned into Toomes cooking May dinner. 

Peter’s not sure what to think about that, or where this puts Toomes on the suspect scale. Not knowing is worse than finding out either of the people he respects did something so horrible cause this, this ambiguity is really messing with Peter’s head. He wants to have a target for his anger so he’ll know what to do with it, who to hate for exposing Tony and him like they did. 

This whodunit thing’s pulling him in too many different directions and he can’t really hate the ADA for doing her job either… Or screw it, he totally can. 

Torres knew. She saw it. 

She knew that everything she slaps Tony with – the horrendous fine, the community service, the entry in the registry – all those punches won’t really land too hard with Tony. An Order of Protection, though, like Peter’s some damsel in distress, some victim, some susceptible child, he freaking can’t even –

“Earth to Parker.”

“Dude, you totally zoned out on us there.”

“Uh, sorry,” Peter mumbles. 

MJ snorts at his tone. “Yeah, try that once more with feeling, Parker.”

“Got a lot on my mind, is all…” 

His shoes are suddenly really interesting. Looking down should also hide his rapid blinking. 

“Like the art exhibit? Dude, you’re gonna rock it. Even MJ thinks so!”

“I do not.”

“Do, too! You said you think the pipe thing’s cool.”

Oh, right. The art show on Monday. And finals. Then the summer. 

And between that, going back to work so May can stop covering for him. Back to _The Hybrid Puppy_ , to where it all started. 

Only now, Tony won’t be dropping by after closing. 

Not anymore. 

*

Pepper hugs him. 

Pepper, the second he steps out of his private elevator into the penthouse, hugs him. Tony lingers for as long as she lets him. 

He’s about to provide a memorable one-liner to mark his return to civilized society when he gets an armful of Bruce. 

“Careful, I’m a biohazard,” Tony quips, but his voice is muffled by Bruce’s shoulder. 

“I’ve gone longer without a shower than you, Tony.”

“But you were in a war zone, buddy! I never left Manhattan.”

“Some would argue it’s the same thing,” Bruce says, finally releasing him. 

“Eh, not touching that one – save it for Philosophical Tuesday. Okay,” Tony adds, louder this time to stop any and all further expressions of sentiment in its tracks. He doesn’t dare stop for even a second cause then he’ll get to reflect on how close this call was and how shitty it’s gonna be without – nope. Better hit the ground running. “I’ll shower, finally change out of these clothes… then what?”

“How about some sleep?” Bruce suggest. “You look dead on your feet.”

“Nah, my mind’s too awake for that. Pepper, Pep, what’s the plan? Rehabilitate my image? I see a lot of schmoozing in my future.”

“Yes…” Pepper says at length. 

Tony wills whatever telepathy skills they’ve developed over the past decades to kick in so she won’t tell him to take it easy. 

“Remy and McKenna have a strategy.”

Bless Pepper. 

“Shouldn’t you slow down for a bit?” Bruce asks, now in his ‘Concerned Doctor Voice’. 

“Pfft! I’ve had almost forty-eight hours to think – came up with a solution for integrating the arc reactor into cars, too! I’m even fairly certain it won’t explode.”

Pepper considers him for a moment after exchanging a glance with Bruce. “Fine. Go shower. We’ll hash things out over lunch.”

“You’re the best!”

Pepper smiles, already stepping into the elevator JARVIS held for her. Tony could swear the AI’s “Welcome back, sir” when he rode up sounded relieved. Tony definitely was. Nine months behind bars without JARVIS…

Bruce is still not inside the elevator – damn, his lips are pursed, which means there are a lot of surprise visits to the workshop in his future to nag him about eating and sleeping in regular intervals. Oh, wait, that’s great actually; between JARVIS and the doc Tony won’t have to occupy himself with tedious health-related things. He can outsource. 

Tony gives Bruce a cheery wave which finally gets Bruce moving to join Pepper, though not without heaving the sigh of a resigned man. 

When the doors _ding_ shut, it’s like a punch to the gut. 

Everything he’s shoved down since he first saw that blasted picture, everything he thought he had under wraps, it all bursts through the damns faster than Tony manages to close the leaks. 

Only this time, there’ll be no Peter to sit with him in the shower. No Peter to talk to him through the aftershocks. 

Tony can still feel the ghost of the kid’s touch against his scalp. The warm presence against his side. 

Tony breathes in deeply. He’ll get through this. He got through losing his parents. He got through a kidnapping. He got through Obadiah’s betrayal. He got through Pepper leaving. What’s one more thing? 

“JARVIS? You there, buddy?”

“Always, sir.”

“Start the shower.”

And if his voice is breaking, no one’s around to hear.

*

“Hi, what can I get you?”

“Oh my god – Peter, as in, _Peter Parker_?”

He nods at the young woman, fighting to maintain his smile. She’s not the first this Friday evening to recognize him and even though Peter knew to expect this when May asked him to fill in for her cause her therapist had a cancellation… it still sucks. 

“Wow.” She looks like a student, but like the kind who doesn’t need student loans. He spots a set of artificial fingernails as she brings up her hand to twist a curl of her ginger hair. “My first time at the _Hybrid Puppy_ and I end up getting you as my barista! It’s like meeting a celebrity, wow… Could we take a picture?”

“Uh, no, sorry,” Peter tells her with a rueful expression he might have practiced in front of the break room mirror. She’s not the first to ask for a picture either, and Peter’s still baffled why anyone would want to. “I’m, you know… working.”

“Oh, right!” She smiles, still playing with her hair. “So… what would you recommend? My girlfriends have been going on about how great your coffee is but they never said which one to go for. I need, like, _all_ the caffeine. I have an essay due midnight and I’m nowhere near finishing it.” 

“The, uh, the Fires of Hell’s Kitchen, maybe? It’s our strongest. But, well, if you don’t usually take your coffee black, I’d recommend a flavor? We have sugar-free syrup from a new start-up in the Bronx, they’re really great.”

She doesn’t stop smiling throughout his speech and then takes absolute ages to decide on which flavor she wants but she puts a fiver in the tip jar so Peter can’t be too annoyed, really. 

Besides, there’s a lull in customers now that the after-work crowd has gotten their fix and matching people up with the coffee that’s best-suited for their needs and tastes is something Peter prides himself on. It’s just difficult to keep up his motivation when it seems like every other customer has ulterior motives for their visit. 

The only guy left in line grins at him. “I bet you twenty bucks that she wrote her name on the tip.” 

“Wha- no, she didn’t have the ... And why would she?”

“She was flirting with you. I mean it, I’ll bet you twenty bucks. Or how about a free coffee and maybe three minutes of your time?”

Peter takes an instinctive step back and looks at the guy with different eyes. He’s tall, with a runner’s body and the sort of charming smile that probably works in ninety percent of the cases. His suit looks like the ones from Tony’s tailor but double-breasted, pocket watch and all.

“Three minutes, then I’ll leave you in peace. Come on, what’ve you got to lose? If she really didn’t write her number on the bill, I’ll just order something and go. And leave that twenty in the tip jar for good measure.”

Peter bites his lip. Well, there’s no new customers at the moment, Zinha is busting the tables and why would there be the woman’s number on the tip?

Her number totally is on the tip. 

“My associate used to look exactly like that. Before he accepted that I’m always right, that is.”

Peter groans. “You’re a lawyer.”

“Yes, the best criminal attorney in the city. My associate had a short conversation with your aunt, but I wanted to make sure you’re able to make an informed decision.”

“I’m not going to sue.”

“Not HBO you won’t, that’s a case even I can’t win and that’s saying something.”

Peter gets the sense that no matter what he does, this guy is going to finish his pitch. He’s oozing confidence in a way that comes from true talent and a lifetime of getting his way in making the impossible possible. He’s like the lawyer version of Tony, Peter thinks and immediately curses himself. He’s gone several minutes without thinking of him and now the ache in his chest is back. 

“… and the best thing about me, Mr. Parker, is that I’m offering my expert services pro bono.”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “Are the three minutes over?”

“I left you twenty seconds to decide how excited your yes is going to be.”

“Yes, thank you, but we’re fine. Can I take your order now, sir?”

Apparently the guy also knows when to pick his battles cause he orders without further protests. Peter makes him a Fires of Hell’s Kitchen, too, but black cause Mr. Kassell enjoys his coffee pure, “like my soul” he jokes before making good on his word and leaving a twenty dollar bill in the tip jar. 

Peter returns his American Express Centurion card with minimal floundering (he’ll never not be awed when handling one of them) and isn’t in the least surprised when Mr. Kassell slides his business card across the counter before taking a seat in the little nook next to the staircase. 

It’s black metal with the firm’s logo in white. The name’s familiar, too; they’ve been on the news with high-profile cases. 

Peter sighs while he waits for the drip to finish. Why can’t they get it into their heads that he doesn’t want to sue Tony? If anything, he’d sue the DA’s office yet even in his wildest fantasies that sounds ridiculous. Although… well, not the office, but… 

Huh. 

Maybe he’s been thinking about this all wrong. 

Peter clears his throat after setting down the coffee at Mr. Kassell’s table. The guy cocks an eyebrow at him. 

“You said you’re going to work pro bono… does that, uh, apply to anything you’d do for us? Or me, I mean.”

The answering smile is eerily shark-like. “Of course.”

Peter squares his shoulders. He’s not going to let himself be intimidated. He’s not a victim, and the sooner people realize that, the better. So he takes a deep breath and meets Mr. Kassell’s look head-on.

“You say you’re the best defense attorney in the city – I want you to prove it.”

*

**Five weeks later**

Bruce stares at the hologram but the contents of the file don’t just change because they don’t make any sense. 

Conleth Piper-Ferguson, 57, hired thirty-two years ago when it was still Howard Stark calling the shots. An inspirational tale, too: apparently Piper-Ferguson had trouble finding a job after being wrongfully incarcerated and was at the right place at the right time to impress Howard into hiring him in. Worked his way up from taking out the trash to chief of staff. 

He’s the mole. They even have his confession on tape. 

Bruce doesn’t believe a word of it. 

Not when the man suddenly came into enough money to pay for his granddaughter’s transition after the girl’s bible-toting parents had kicked her out. 

Everyone else thinks it’s over. Pepper even called him paranoid. And Tony − 

Well. 

The only things Tony seems to care about at the moment are work, winning back the favor of the public, and drinking his body weight in alcohol. Not necessarily in that order. 

“Doctor Banner,” JARVIS interrupts his brooding. “I’m required to trigger protocol Burnt Candle.”

Bruce huffs. “Again?” 

“I’m afraid so.”

Bruce shouldn’t be surprised anymore. He still takes a moment to massage his temples before resigning himself to Tony-wrangling duty. 

This time, Tony even manages to open the rear car door himself. And he’s alone. Bruce should count his blessings, since they are few these days when it comes to his friend. 

“Brucie!” said friend cheers, spreading his arms. To say Tony’s appearance is ‘disheveled’ would be a gross understatement. His movements are slow and there is a dopy grin on his face that can only mean… 

“Did you have sex?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Tony says. “One of the waiters at the, the, that thing – they had these really snug uniforms, delicious to look at, I’m telling ya, told him to keep it on and –”

“I get the picture, Tony.”

“Nah, you don’t, but that’s fine, it was…” Tony screws up his face as he thinks, then ends in a “Meh. Nothing to write home about.”

 _Of course it wasn’t_ , Bruce thinks but remembers to not actually say. “Please tell me you didn’t drive.”

“You’re insulting my intelligence here, doc. Course not! I’m just one DUI away from kissing my probation goodbye.”

And to think Bruce expected being on probation would prevent such escapades considering one infraction equals violating the terms of his parole. There goes Bruce’s hope that the risk of serving the rest of it behind bars would stop Tony from going back to his usual coping mechanisms…

The exasperated friend in him wants to leave Tony to his own devices but his inner doctor ensures he maneuvers Tony upstairs, makes him brush his teeth, drink two glasses of water and actually change out of his rather ripe clothes. By the time Bruce has put them away for dry-cleaning, Tony’s breathing has evened out. 

Bruce hopes he’ll at least have a dreamless sleep… but wakes up with one hell of a hangover tomorrow. 

Bruce drags himself to the elevator. He feels helpless in the face of Tony’s pain, doesn’t know Tony well enough to figure out how to make it better. 

The elevator doors open on his floor with a _dong_.

Tony even changed the sound. Bruce wants to find that amusing, but he never actually succeeds. 

Suddenly, an idea strikes him. 

Bruce looks up at the sensors. “JARVIS, do you happen to have a way to contact Colonel Rhodes?”

*

Colonel Rhodes arrives at the Tower a week later. Several small cuts mar the left side of his face and he looks as exhausted as Bruce feels after five events in seven days that all required Tony’s presence.

“Sorry, couldn’t wrap up my assignment any sooner,” Rhodes says. “Where is he?”

“Drinking his dinner, last I checked.”

“ _Jesus_ , you weren’t kidding, doc, were you? But I don’t get it – they let him off with probation, why the Howard Stark revival?”

“Well...” Bruce has been searching for the right words ever since JARVIS told him Colonel Rhodes had been informed and would be en route shortly, but he has yet to find the best way to explain the situation. “They also issued an Order of Protection against Tony.”

He leaves it at that. Rhodes is quick to read between the lines and his face goes from ‘So what?’ to ‘Oh hell, no’ in the few moments it takes for the private elevator to reach the workshop. 

The Colonel curses under his breath. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“His messages sounded like it was just another fling,” Rhodes murmurs, mostly to himself by the sound of it. After a beat, he fixes Bruce with a quizzical gaze. “What the hell’s this kid got that the others don’t?”

“Well… He’s a bright young man who sees the best in Tony. And wasn’t afraid to call him out when he’s not living up to his potential.”

“Oh, he likes that, doesn’t he… Alright. JARVIS, you can let us out now.”

The elevator opens without comment from the AI, as does the door separating the workshop from the lobby. 

Tony is leaning over a workshop table and poking what looks like a miniature arc reactor with one hand while the other has a firm grip on a glass of whisky – presumably the coffee grain whisky Tony has taken up drinking.

Tony straightens at the sound of their footsteps and bursts into a wide smile at the sight of his wayward best friend. “Rhodey! Gawd, it’s been ages, oh, wow, what happened there? Testing out yourself if it’s true that chicks dig scars?”

“No, just had to bring an explosive situation to a premature ending.”

“Wha– oh don’t tell me you risked your mission to drop by for a visit, you shouldn’t have. Not that it’s not great to see you, don’t get me wrong, but I’m kinda busy at the moment and –”

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘I’m fine’, Tones, I swear I’ll lay you out so hard you ain’t talking for a week.”

Tony throws up his hands with a “Woah!” but is immediately distracted since his jerky movements made his drink spill and in the state he’s in, Tony’s first reflex is to lick the drops from the side of the glass. 

He turns back to Rhodes with a contented hum and raises the drink. “Want one?” 

“No, Tony.”

“Ha, more for me,” Tony cheers, then immediately sets out to drain his glass in one go. 

Bruce watches Rhodes watch his best friend amble to the workshop’s mini-bar (which has grown exponentially in the past six weeks) and pour himself another. 

That’s when Rhodes explodes.

“Ten months, Tony! Ten months of deep cover, that’s all it took? Seriously, can’t I even leave you alone for that long?”

“What the hell, Rhodey? I’m –”

“You’re a fucking _mess_ , Tones,” the Colonel interrupts. “You’re doing exactly what your old man always did, and don’t you dare tell me to shut up cause I didn’t almost lose a fucking eye to have you pull that tough guy shit on me.” 

“Guess you took that risk for nothing, pal,” Tony snaps and takes another swig from his new drink. 

Bruce feels like an intruder to this scene but he can’t in good conscience leave them to shout at each other. 

“What happened to you, Tones?” Rhodes continues and doesn’t stop when Tony winces in response. “This isn’t the Tony Stark I know. The Tony Stark I know got to his feet with a fucking _knife in his back_ and fought back. The Tony Stark I know built a flying suit to escape a terrorist cell. Where’s that Tony Stark?”

“Not happening, Rhodey.”

“This isn’t about the suit –”

“Then why bring it up, huh?”

“You _know_ I think you should –”

“And you know I’m not gonna make any more weapons, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s not a weapon, Tony, it’s the key to win this war.”

“Oh, which one?” Tony sneers. “I always get them confused.” He takes another sip. “You know them better than I do and you really think they’re not gonna take one look at the specs and their one-track minds aren’t gonna jump to remote-controlled soldiers?” 

“And what would be so bad about that, huh? What?”

Tony slams his glass down on the workshop table and glares. Bruce has rarely seen him this angry. “I’m done killing, Rhodey! Get it into your thick skull.”

“You have a duty to your country, Tony, to protect it –”

“And I am protecting it – from itself! I gave them bullet-proof body armor, for fuck’s sake, I’m giving them every scrap of defensive gear they ask for and there’ve been sixty-three percent fewer deaths on our side because of it, so don’t you start telling me about my duty, buddy.”

“Well, you could do more.”

Tony _flinches_. Tony actually flinches and Bruce has no idea why. 

Then he laughs. It starts as short bursts of humorless laughter that dissolve into almost hysterical giggling. 

Bruce looks at Colonel Rhodes and finds his own bafflement reflected back at him. 

“What about the workers?” Tony says, but it sounds like he’s quoting. “I almost said it, too.”

Bruce takes a step forward. “Said it when, Tony?”

“Board meeting. Gruber had some ideas about restructuring. Would save us a shit ton of money without negatively affecting performance but we’d have to drop a few hundred people.”

_What about the workers._

Bruce thinks he’s starting to understand. 

“And you’re suddenly concerned about layoffs?” Rhodes wonders. “Since when?”

That draws another scathing laugh from Tony but no response. 

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” Bruce makes sure to keep any and all judgment out of his voice. 

Tony snorts. “Haven’t gotten to that part yet.”

Silence stretches between them. Tony considers the contents of his glass as though they were holding the answers to his conundrum while Rhodes blinks at his best friend, brow furrowed. 

When it’s obvious that neither of the other men is going to say anything, Bruce coughs. “Have you considered changes to the production process that would match the savings but would still require the same amount of employees?” 

To his surprise, Tony hums in assent. 

“And?”

“Can’t be done. Not as effectively as Gruber’s suggesting.”

Bruce aims a smirk at Tony. “Good thing you’re the boss, then.”

‘And can veto his proposal’ goes unsaid. As does the Colonel’s ‘Yeah, right’ that’s followed by a derisive snort. 

Yet when Tony refrains from commenting in favor of taking a swig from his White Russian, Rhodes gives Tony another look. “Wait – you’re not actually considering this?”

“My name’s on the building; that’s gotta have some perks.”

“Woah, okay, back up – just so we’re clear: You’re gonna veto a proposal that’ll save you a buttload of money because you wanna save _jobs_?” 

“What if I am?” Tony says, spreading his arms defiantly. “It’s not like the company isn’t turning more profit than we know what to do with. We got five private jets between three main offices and somehow the Board’s gunning for a sixth cause they can’t pull their heads out of their asses for long enough to coordinate with each other.”

Rhodes is outright gaping now. “Gruber‘s going to use it against you when you’re suddenly talking like a socialist, Tones. And I guess he’s gonna have more of a chance at succeeding now that you’re a _felon_.”

“Ha, let him try,” Tony sneers, walking back to the work station with the miniature arc reactor on it. He picks it up and brandishes it like a shield. “The Board’s gonna fire him before getting rid of the guy who just revolutionized the energy sector. Again.”

Curiosity propels Bruce forward and he reaches out while arching an eyebrow in silent question. Tony hands the device over without hesitation, though his confidence does nothing to hide how sluggish his movements are. 

Genius. That’s the only word that comes to mind as he inspects the prototype. Bruce turns it over in his hands – he has about three thousand questions. “That’s – that’s amazing, Tony, how did you manage to balance –“

“Can we skip the science babble and get back on topic?” Rhodey asks. “I didn’t shoot my way out of al-Mukalla to watch re-runs of The Science Bros.”

“Technically this would be the new season,” Tony quips. “And this time isn’t going to involve as much destruction as the last one’s finale.”

It takes a few moments for Bruce’s brain to stop obsessing over power surges and overloads to recall the first and only time he met Colonel Rhodes. It was the day before they created Ultron. 

“General Ross will be relieved to hear that.”

“Ugh, nope, he won’t,” Tony says, going back to the mini-bar. When did he finish his drink? Bruce must have been drooling over the prototype longer than he thought. “This one’s mine.”

“You can’t just keep this to yourself!”

“Watch me.” 

“But the impact on mobility alone –”

“No buts,” Tony interrupts... and freezes. 

He was in the middle of generously pouring whisky before suddenly clamming up. The next thing Bruce knows, Tony’s flinging the bottle across the workshop with a noise that’s half-pained, half-hysterical, and slumps back against the counter. The bottle hits the wall across from Bruce and Rhodes and shatters on impact, the remaining liquid splashing in all directions. 

Bruce’s reflex is to flinch and draw in on himself while the Colonel’s hand lands on where his service weapon usually sits. A heartbeat later, Rhodes realizes that there’s no threat.

“What the hell, Tony!” 

But Tony has buried his face in his hands and ignores him. It gives both the Colonel and Bruce himself a brief respite to calm down and regroup. Finally, the scope of the situation seems to dawn on Rhodes as the gears in his head are visibly turning at double velocity. 

“I’ve never seen him like this,” Rhodes murmurs. “You were right to call me, doc.”

“Can you help?” 

Rhodes exhales at length. “Maybe.” 

Then the Colonel crosses the space between them and lowers himself to his knees in front of Tony. The position looks uncomfortable, painful even, as though it is aggravating an injury. 

When Rhodes speaks, his tone is almost cheerful. “So, Tones. What’s the plan? How’re you gonna get him back?”

Bruce watches Tony respond with a withering glare that would send employees scrambling for the exit but slides off Rhodes. 

“Nah, don’t look at me like that. And don’t try to tell me you ain’t making plans cause I’d bet my mother’s fried chicken recipe that JARVIS already got a list. But if one of them’s another giant bunny I’mma hit you, brother. JARVIS, is there a giant stuffed bunny on that list?”

“No, Colonel Rhodes. It is a stuffed puppy.” 

“I knew it!”

“Traitor,” Tony grumbles and then glares some more when Bruce fails to stifle a chuckle. “But that’s pointless anyway. I’m not allowed to send him stuff either.” 

Rhodes doesn’t let that get him down. “Can’t you void the Order of Protection at some point?”

Tony shrugs evasively. 

Bruce steps closer. “What did Mrs. Ainsley say about it?”

“What makes you think I asked?”

“The past four years.” 

That earns him another glare which Bruce answers with yet another eye-roll as something in him calms. It’s heartening to see Tony being proactive. 

“So, what did she say?”

“That the earliest we got any chance of having it revoked is after my probation.”

 _Nine months._

Bruce gulps. Hopefully Rhodes will have a swifter solution since Bruce doubts he would survive another thirty-odd weeks of nursing Tony’s perpetual state of intoxication. 

“Guess you better start getting a move on and strategize, Tony.” 

“I got a strategy: waiting.” Tony sags a bit more, which Bruce didn’t think was possible. “The process is pretty straightforward and Ainsley’s already pulling the forms. There’ll be another hearing – if the judge doesn’t just deny it immediately. Gee. Fun.”

Bruce has never heard Tony sound so hollow. Not even when he told him, albeit sparingly, about his experiences in Afghanistan after Bruce found him in the wake of a severe anxiety attack. 

Better tread carefully.

“Cut the bullshit, Tones.”

Or not. 

“You’re gonna stop whining and fucking do something. The Tony Stark I know doesn’t wait around for the right moment, he creates it – use that genius brain of yours and solve this already.” 

Rhodes turns on his heels and stalks over to where Dummy is doing its best to gather the glass splinters off the workshop floor and ends up scattering them further by crushing some under its wheel. 

Bruce holds his breath. Tony’s eyes track his best friend as his expression moves from affronted to spiteful before glazing over, wheels obviously turning already. He’s sitting up straighter, too. Considering how fast Tony’s mind is, Bruce wouldn’t be surprised if he were already five steps ahead. As long as neither of those steps consists of drinking at a bar or bedding random people, Bruce will count this as a success.

Then, from one moment to the next, Tony’s face lights up with a fire Bruce hasn’t seen since Bucky’s wedding. 

“Right, there are totally ways around this – ‘s not like they’ve been reviving chivalry either. Rhodey, you better listen cause I’m only gonna say his once: you’re a genius!” Tony proclaims. 

He climbs to his feet and promptly sways dangerously. Bruce surges forward just in time to steady him. 

“Oookay. Dizzy. Not fun. When’s the last time I ate?”

“Nine hours thirty-seven minutes,” JARVIS informs them, which makes Bruce scowl and Rhodes curse rather vividly. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Tones,” he says, gripping Tony’s shoulders. “You’re gonna splash some water in your face and then we’re gonna go upstairs where you’re gonna hydrate properly. There you’re gonna tell me about this Peter and eat something before you’ll run your ideas past me –”

“Oh, come on –”

“No, Tony,” Rhodes tells him with an urgency in his tone that suggests some major mishaps in the past, “don’t even think about lying. You remember October ’93?”

Tony grumbles something that might have been a “Yeah”. 

“And we’re gonna eat steak – you owe me steak for this.” 

“Do I?” 

“Yeah, now hurry up, I’m starving.” 

“Ah, so that’s why you’re so bitchy.” 

Rhodes shoves Tony which is almost enough to make him stumble again but this time Tony regains his balance before Bruce needs to intervene. 

“You joining us, doc?”

He’s tempted, but Bruce decides to bow out. Rhodes deserves to have his best friend to himself after all he’s undertaken to get here. Besides, Bruce remembers, he still has some detective work to do regarding their alleged mole, so he exits the workshop and steps into the elevator to return to his lab.

Once the doors have closed, JARVIS speaks up. 

“Thank you, Doctor Banner. Your suggestion proved most helpful.”

Bruce smiles. “Couldn’t have done it without you, JARVIS. What’s he planning, do you think?”

“I lack sufficient data to formulate an adequate response.”

“You think it’s going to work out?”

“The probability of a prosperous outcome is fifty-four percent based on my calculations.”

Fifty-four. More than half. 

When Bruce arrives at the lab, he’s still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hits post* 
> 
> *doesn't hide in her bunker again since it's finally a more hopeful ending*
> 
> *but heads to bed since it's almost midnight*
> 
> Regarding chapter 24: It might take until after New Year's Eve given my travels and schedule, which is why I was keen to leave you on a positive note rather than one of despair ;) In case I'm back with more after 2017 ends... I wish you all an AWESOME start into 2018! <3


	24. twenty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of the new year, hooray! And another long one! Sorry this took a while - first my Muse decided to take a brief holiday over xmas, then my laptop went and died on me... but it was fixable and I didn't have to sell a kidney to have it replaced, phew =)
> 
> Fun fact: My brilliant, beloved beta merlenhiver took me in for New Year's Eve and I ran the rest of the outline by her. Her guess is 30 chapters in total. Mine is... never mind. I think I've learned my lesson :P It'll be as many chapters as this fic needs^^
> 
> Since there seems to be a strong #Starker fraction on Twitter - I'm there, too, if you want to say hello ツ ([@jays_lair](https://twitter.com/jays_lair))
> 
> Three more things, then I swear I'm finished:  
> \- The amazing Lil' has started **translating this fic** into Korean! Over here at [spidey-postype.com](https://spidey.postype.com/).  
>  \- And another reader is going to translate it into Russian, I'm so thrilled :D Link will follow once available.  
> \- And there's **FANART**! You can find the amazing art by Plavkivie on [tumblr](https://plavkivie.tumblr.com/post/169341945736/my-fanart-to-the-most-wonderful-starker-fanfic-i) and [deviant art](https://plavkivie.deviantart.com/art/Starker-Fanfic-Fanart-Raising-Hybrid-Puppies-723914043?ga_submit_new=10%3A1515152472&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1&ga_recent=1) \- it's utterly gorgeous ♥♥♥ Please shower her in appreciation!!!

He’s done it. Only took him two decades but Tony has finally rendered Pepper speechless.

Well, he’s managed to make her gape like a fish for a few seconds before, but never got that properly slack-jawed, “What the Hell”-type expression he's been aiming for.

And damn if he isn’t enjoying this moment.

His smirking finally gets Pepper out of the funk she's been in, though the next stage still mostly consists of stammering. “Wha– are you sure? Do you have any idea of the impact this would have on our projections?”

“Nothing conditional about it, Pep. And the projections are gonna be fine –“

“How? I mean it, Tony, this isn’t rhetorical – and what happened to 'we can’t give out bombs to idiots'? Now you’d basically be giving them out for free!“

“Oh, I solved that, don’t worry, Pep! Got enough safeguards in place to shut everyone up. Seriously, the number of people who could hack their way into the reactor tech is miniscule. Down to one, basically. That’d be me, in case you’re wondering,” he adds with a wink. “I’m telling ya, this is gonna be what takes me to Stockholm –“

“Damn it, Tony, you can’t finance a company on a Nobel Prize alone.“

“And I’m not trying to; I've come up with a fully automated production process! The entire thing's gonna be incredibly cheap to run and maintain and all we've got to charge people for are the manufacturing costs.“

Tony spreads his hands, all _tada_ , yet Pepper still stares at him like he's grown a second head instead of a ridiculous amount of stubble. Okay, it might be veering embarrassingly close into beard territory but cut him some slack – he basically just solved the world's energy crisis, he's allowed to forgo personal hygiene for a week.

“You haven’t showered in a week?!“

Tony winces. He said it out loud again, didn’t he...

Pepper takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving his face. “Alright. Let's say I agree to this. Let's say I’ll even help you make Mr. Bodenkamp believe you're not pulling an elaborate prank on him.“

“Who's –“

“Our liaison at Audi, for Christ's sake, the guy you appoin- you know what, never mind. Even if I get him to believe we want to basically hand over perfectly safe engine-compatible arc reactors to him as well as to everyone else who finds a use for them –“

“Which is gonna be everyone,“ Tony gloats. Oh, how the masses are gonna flock to him. His image is so close to being salvaged, he can taste it. 

Pepper makes a dangerous noise at the back of her throat so he mimes zipping his mouth shut and waits for her to have reigned herself in enough to get to the point she’s been trying to make.

“Even if anyone’s going to believe that you actually managed to build a commercially viable arc reactor that can't be manipulated into an explosive device and even if, on top of all that, the public trusts you enough to –“

“Come on, I wouldn’t even need to ask the mayor for permission to add one to the city’s power grid; you know, thinking about it, I wouldn’t even need to call – guess a text would suffice to send that guy running. Yeah, we’d need to give 'em a couple of weeks but I'd bet half my shares that all the fearmongers who're gonna be up my ass about endangering the public are gonna dance to a different tune later. Cause how on earth could they’ve possibly gone a single day without a self-sustaining energy source to charge their phones so they can tweet complaints all day?”

“But why?“

Tony blinks. “What do you mean, why? Clean energy! Incredibly cheap clean energy! Sure, Canada and Saudi Arabia aren’t gonna be happy I'm basically making their oil imports redundant but it's not like I’m gonna stop selling the tech for break-even costs at the border, that'd be stupid, don't wanna start a world war –“

Pepper gives him a look that could refreeze the ice caps.

“Why? Weeell,” Tony edges on, “to help my image. Win back public favor.“

“I don’t think robbing our company of its most promising revenue source is the way to go. Haven’t you seen the numbers?“

“Oh, I have,“ he assures her. “And it’s gonna be fine! Didn’t I mention it’s also compatible with aircrafts? In fact, I already updated the specs on the servers for our engineers to review. Nothing’s gonna stop StarkAir from launching now that I’ve eliminated the need for –”

“That will take _months_ to implement and you know it,” Pepper hisses. “So why – oh. _Oh._ Of course.“ 

Pepper's eyes widen in a way Tony decidedly doesn’t like. Suddenly, all her frustration evaporates in a cloud of, of... _mushy goo_ and ugh, Tony definitely doesn’t need to hear anything she has to say on that. One jab at how he does have a heart is enough per lifetime, really.

Quick change of topic required, then.

“By the way: I’m going to veto Gruber’s proposal next Tuesday. But don’t worry, I got a plan B for us.”

“ _Veto_?!”

Tony nods.

Once she has processed the news, however, Pepper doesn’t look surprised anymore. The mushy look is back, ugh. At least now it's paired with a suspicious glint that takes some of the softness out of it.

“What else?“

Damn, Pepper knows him too well. He grins at her. 

“I'll need your office for that.“

*

Plus a shower, Pepper was very adamant about that. Tony would’ve cleaned up anyway cause there’s no way he's gonna enjoy this as much as he could in grime-stained jeans and a tank-top.

Tony arranges himself in Pepper's desk chair and turns it so he's facing the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out across Manhattan. It's late July and smoldering hot, meaning New Yorkers are gonna be extraordinarily rude, especially to people in the service industry...

“Sir, Mr. Thompson is approaching the office.“

“Thanks, J.“

_Showtime._

Moments later, the double doors slide open and nervous footsteps hail the arrival of the newest pawn in Tony's plan. He sounds way too confident for a seventeen-year-old – either he’s a brilliant actor or his ego's almost as big as Tony's. 

“Hello, Mrs. Potts, I'm Eugene Thompson, the Marketing intern. It’s an honor to meet you, madam. My supervisor said you wanted to speak to me. I hope I've been meeting expectations? But if there is anything I can do to _exceed_ them, I'd be – _eeek_!“

Tony has only just turned around the chair to face Eugene, and the boy's reaction did not disappoint. He makes a mental note to show the footage of this to Peter at soon as they're allowed to talk again, but quickly stops that train of thought since that's still too fucking far away.

“M-Mr. Stark,” Eugene stammers. “I’m sorry, I was looking for Mrs. Potts’s office. I didn’t mean to disturb you, sir –”

“You didn’t, as a matter of fact.”

“O-okay –“

“Actually, you got the right office cause this meeting’s kinda off the books.”

The boy’s eyes widen at that. He’s incredibly quick on his feet, Tony’s got to give it to him. Eugene glances towards the door – which JARVIS has long ago slid shut – then towards the chair which Tony pointedly does not offer him.

“Uh, if you don’t mind my asking: what’s this about, Mr. Stark?”

“Well,” Tony drawls, keenly aware of the beads of sweat forming on Eugene’s forehead. Serves him right, the bastard. “It’s not about what you did to get this internship.”

Eugene can’t stop himself from gulping a bit at that before the brief flare of panic gives way to a healthy blend of relief and suspicion. He shuffles on the spot, then quickly clasps his hands in front of his body and meets Tony’s cool gaze with a humble expression.

“So, uh, how can I be of assistance, sir?”

Tony smirks. “I needed a marketing minion for something. McKenna said you got a knack for it – but don’t let that get to your head, she says that about every teenager who’s showing a better work ethic than her own little brat – so here we are.”

It’s an obvious effort for Eugene to stay quiet. Tony should have made popcorn, really, but it’s almost too easy to reduce the boy to a bundle of nerves for it to feel truly vindicating. Days like this, he loves being Tony Stark.

“Tell me, Eugene,” Tony says, rising from his chair and ambling towards where Pepper hides the good stuff. It’s not popcorn, but it’ll do the job. “What’s the story in the media about Peter and me? What’re they thinking?”

The 'good stuff’ is in the cabinet next to the obvious decanter of whiskey, behind a row of award statues for… business stuff, he guesses. Tony manages to start pouring himself a generous glass and turn back before the boy answers, so he raises an expectant eyebrow at Eugene.

“Well? What do ya say, minion?”

Ha, someone definitely hates his nickname. 

“Um, n-not in your favor, sir?”

“You asking me or telling me?”

“Telling, sorry,” Eugene hurries to assure him. “Most people seem to think you seduced him and took advantage of him; I’d have to run some analyses before I could pass a more extensive –”

“Nah, no need for that. Anyway, you know better than the herd, don’t you?”

Eugene blinks. “I might have my suspicions, sir, but I’d never dare to assume I know –“

“Ugh, come on, where’s the big mouth I heard about?”

“H-heard about?”

Tony takes a leisurely sip. “Yeah. From Peter.”

“He, uh, he mentioned me, sir?”

So Eugene’s voice goes up an octave when he’s scared. Nice. 

“Yeah. I know quite a lot. I commend your creativity. 'Penis Parker’, ‘s got quite the ring to it. No surprise you’d rather go into marketing than real estate. Good thinking on blackmailing us into getting you this opportunity – 'Dad, I scored a spot on the Stark Industries internship program’ really takes the sting out of 'Thanks for arranging an internship with your boring old company but you can stick it up your ass cause I’m not gonna do what you want me to, Dad.’”

Eugene has gone incredibly pale during his little speech and Tony rewards himself with a second glass while he waits to see how the boy reacts. 

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you, uh.” He clears his throat. “You had a relationship. An equal relationship, or as equal a relationship as one can be between the genius CEO of a multi-billion-dollar empire and a… a high-school student who needs to work for pocket money.”

So apparently he’s good under pressure. Damn. McKenna’s already going on and on about offering the boy a spot in SI’s co-operative education scheme wherein students gain work experience at their company while enrolled at NYU, and Tony’s been holding out for a reason to veto that. 

“Pretty good summary, minion. Now, can you guess where I’m going with this?”

“You want the public to know the truth? But you wouldn’t need me for that, you could simply tell – or, no, it wouldn’t work coming from you. And even if Parker didn’t hate all the attention, everyone would just say you're paying him to say those things.”

Tony nods, motioning for him to go on. 

“So… you want me to tell them? But what good would… or is it about Parker joining the Pining Olympics? He’s been like a human black cloud since the verdict was announced, barely even tried to charm the guests at the exhibit. He better be glad I’m brilliant at selling people stuff and making them think it was their idea.”

Tony would love to bang his head against the wall. The boy fits into SI’s marketing department like a koala into a bamboo plantation. Good thing Tony’s still got senior year to prepare for the inevitable, unless he finds a reason to drop the boy after all. 

The boy who’s still mulling over what’s really quite an obvious plan. 

“Hm, guess spinning this into some star-crossed lovers kind of fairy tale would sell some copies. And if it’s coming from an anonymous source with good images… hm, that might turn the tide.” Eugene grins. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Bingo! Minion’s got it in one,” Tony adds, raising his glass in a toast before taking a huge sip. “No need for the stream of consciousness next time, should there ever be one. Seriously, no one cares.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir, I –“

“Yeah, yeah, you figured you’d show off and dazzle me, yada yada yada. Too bad I’ve got a very high threshold to find anything dazzling – certified genius and all that. No way you’re gonna even come close to impressing me in your lifetime, minion. Stick with giving two hundred percent and you might – _might_ – satisfy my wishes. Got it?”

Eugene gulps but manages to nod. 

“You’ll find some candids in your inbox you can use along with a list of journalists who’d be up to the tasks. Oh, and details on the story you’re gonna tell cause I don’t have the time to spoon feed it to ya before my eleven o’clock.”

Another nod. Eugene takes a deep breath, then asks, “When do you want to have this done, sir? I’d prefer to do some research of my own before reaching out to anyone, as well as draw up a strategy.” 

Tony huffs, rolling his eyes. “You get a week to tell me you gave the interview, nothing more. McKenna knows I’m gonna need one of her underlings for a project so if she asks just tell her you’re my minion of the month – or week, depending on how badly you do.” 

“You won’t regret it, sir,” Eugene vows, his tone dead serious.

Tony nods and starts refilling his glass. Eugene hovers a bit but, miracle of miracles, actually realizes that was Tony’s dismissal and thanks him profusely before saying goodbye.

“Oh, minion,” Tony calls right before Eugene would have left the room. The boy spins around like a well-trained dog. A small one, though... A cockapoo, maybe. Tony’s so amused by imagining Eugene as a little doggie that he almost forgets he had a point to make. 

Torturing the boy with another few moments of silence, however, works out rather well in the scheme of things, Tony thinks. 

“Uh, y-yes, sir?” 

“If I ever hear a word about you bullying another student, I’ll personally make sure you wouldn’t even get a job doing PR for arctic seal spotting.” 

Eugene does the only sensible thing: look terrified and scuttle. 

*

Tony’s eleven o’clock takes him across Midtown to the offices of Monsanto. After seven weeks of pretty much constant attention, it’s finally trickled off enough so he can leave the Tower without fearing for his life because of some angry mob outside his front doors. 

Sure, people still tweet death threats at him and mothers get airtime on radio shows (who even still listens to _the radio_ , by the way?) vowing to keep their teenage sons from school trips to SI next year. 

Okay, and the stock price is still pretty low… but it’s gotten better, really. 

His bodyguards barely get anything to do anymore; the mole has been caught – if you don’t listen to Bruce’s paranoia, that is – and Tony is busy enough with work to stay distracted. Plus, he’s figured out the perfect combination and quantity of booze required to keep the dreams to a minimum. 

Three cheers for effective coping strategies.

Really, he’s okay. 

Or, well, okay-ish. 

Damn it, there used to be a time when Tony managed to lie to himself about these things. But now all he sees are Peter’s big brown eyes, all worry-filled and full of emotions and Tony knows that if Peter were here he’d have a few choice words about his coping mechanisms before offering alternatives that are way healthier than high-end liquor. 

Thankfully, his arrival at Monsanto stops any further wallowing in its tracks. 

Pepper assigned him to talking about SI’s restructuring measures with the members of the executive tier who aren’t currently in a coma and Tony’s probably even less enthusiastic about this conversation than the managers are. You’d think that after weeks, Pepper would have had her fill of punishing him, but nope. She also isn’t shielding him from Coulson’s calls about developing AI for the FBI, so Tony doubts the number of awful meetings he has to deal with is gonna dwindle any time soon. 

Tony resolves to kill the government official who thought it’s a great idea to give the Agent that kind of authority or promotion or whatever – no chance in hell they’re getting their own mini-JARVIS.

“Are we boring you, Mr. Stark?”

He looks up to see Whatshisname paused in the middle of his presentation. 

“People usually are. Doesn’t mean I’m not listening. Go on.”

Whatshisname does, outlining in great detail what he thinks SI should be doing with their newest acquisition. The conference room is filled with tense faces, though… Good on them. Then it won’t come as too much of a shock when Tony fires ninety percent of them. 

Or, well… Turns out it does. 

“I’m the leading expert on sterile seeds at this company, Mr. Stark!” Whatshisname shouts. “With all due respect, you need me more than I need you.”

Tony imitates a buzzer sound. “Wrong. I don’t need you at all.”

“What?!”

“I’ve come to the conclusion that terminating the sterile seeds policy is the best course of action. Seed diversity’s sort of a useful thing and challenging nature to come up with super bacteria and whatnot – that’s just courting trouble, and I don’t even need a degree in biology to know that. Not to mention exploiting the farmers all around the globe. That’s just evil.”

“Stark Industries doesn’t get to lecture anyone on what’s evil,” another executive hisses. Her knuckles have whitened from keeping a death grip on her stylo. 

“You can’t do this!” Whatshisname continues. “What about the Monsanto legacy?”

“It’ll live on,” Tony says. “We’re rebranding; it’s gonna be Stark Agriculture or something. Feeding the world’s gonna get a whole new rep.” 

He aims a smug grin at the room, then saunters off. His work here is done. The affected parties will already have the details of their termination in their inbox. No severance package, though, cause there’s no reason to reward the idiots for driving their company into bankruptcy. 

Once he’s inside the stairwell leading to the ground floor, JARVIS speaks up. 

“Sir, there has been a development.”

“One day I’ll give you a vocabulary upgrade, J,” Tony sighs. “Could you be any more vague?”

“Someone leaked the information of Stark Industries being Monsanto’s anonymous buyer. The documents on WikiLeaks also include the date and location of today’s meeting.”

With a heart-felt “Ugh!”, Tony drops his head against the nearest wall. 

“Can I please just take that fucking site offline already?”

“As instructed by the Fifth Estate Protocol, I am to remind you that I will stop any and all attempts of you doing so, sir.”

“Fine,” Tony grumbles. “What’s the gist, then? This just happen or…?”

“The documents were published an hour ago while you were in the meeting. Since then, a crowd has been gathering in front of this building.”

“... where I’ve got to pass by to get to my car. Just great.”

Tony runs a hand through his hair. At least he showered this morning and put on one of his favorite suits (navy blue, single-breasted). Not reacting to the stupid bullshit sprouted by an angry mob’s a lot easier while wearing his battle armor. 

When he reaches the lobby, the receptionist gives him a cold stare. Huh, she must have already heard about the layoffs. Tony waves at her regardless and continues towards the glass double doors as Bradley and Yin fall into step in front of him without so much as a nod required. There’s the reason these two are the only personnel he trusts with guarding both the private entrance and himself. 

Bradley exits the building first and motions for Yin to let Tony step outside a moment later. His swagger barely falters, even as he takes in the beat cops guarding the barrier they set up in front of the entrance. Tony doubts the receptionist was that considerate, so it was most likely JARVIS who informed the NYPD of the, uh, development. 

Good thing the Commissioner’s an old friend, or else Bradley and Yin would have had a hell of a lot more to do than stare imposingly. 

He was able to make out that the crowd is chanting before he ventured outside, but it’s when he hears _what_ the choir of hipsters, working-class parents and eco-activists as well as the usual number of religious folk is shouting that Tony stops in his tracks. 

“Hands off our kids! Hands off our food! Hands off our kids! Hands off our food!”

‘You idiots got it all wrong!’ Tony desperately wants to shout back but that would be beyond stupid. The first rule of dealing with protesters is not to engage, so he has to swallow the flash of anger and hurt and force his feet to keep moving. 

“Hands off our kids! Hands off our food!” the crowd goes on as a few middle-aged men who are close enough to where Tony’s black Audi is waiting near the front entrance push at it until a stern glance from one of the police officers makes them stop. 

Wait, why does that face underneath the peaked cap look familiar?

Before Tony can finish that train of thought, a particularly angry “Hey, Stark!” draws his attention. 

Tony turns – but it’s already too late. 

The angry voice belongs to a protester who’s skipped over the barrier along with two others, all of whom are launching something at him – but Yin and Bradley are on them immediately. The first lumps of dirt and rock shatter against his bodyguards but there’s three of them, three attackers with matching thunderous expressions and pockets full of rocks and the car’s too far away for him to take cover so all Tony can do is throw up his arms, bracing for –

Nothing. 

The projectiles never reach their target. 

Tony blinks. 

The familiar-looking cop has stepped between him and the protesters, blocking the first and second lump of dirt with his right arm and making them shatter.

The third, however, connects with the side of his head. The cop stumbles and that’s when Tony recognizes him – it’s Steve Rogers. 

That means – 

Yeah, Officer Barnes is already aiming his service weapon at the third attacker and is probably shouting something or other cause the guy freezes immediately but Tony can’t hear much apart from the blood rushing in his ears. 

_No, no, so not the time for a panic attack, come on –_

Bradley’s pinning his guy to the ground but Yin’s struggling, catching an elbow to the side –

_You’re fine, you’re in Manhattan, you’re fine –_

Yin growls and pulls his taser, already charging with –

_An electric shock makes Tony twitch back from the table. Yinsen chuckles._

Barnes is instructing the only assailant left standing to “get on your knees, hands behind your head!” 

_The cowl’s yanked off him and he blinks against the – studio lights? What the hell..._

Camera shutters click.

_No, that’s not right, there were no photo cameras in –_

The noises of the world around him come flooding back from one second to the next. 

There’s screaming and the clicking sounds of phone cameras and handcuffs being fastened on the guy Barnes is still training his weapon at by a tall, female cop. Rogers stumbles over to the second attacker, reaching for his own pair of restraints. 

_Rope around his hands, damn it, no way to pick the lock with fucking rope –_

Tony tries deep breaths but they aren’t doing shit and there’s a bunch of gawkers filming the scene so Tony forces his joints to unlock and dashes behind the cover of the car. He slides down the passenger door and puts his head between his knees like JARVIS said was supposed to help but doesn’t. 

_“You could be a role model.”_

Of course that’s when Peter’s words pop into his head, making his eyes sting. He could but he’s not, he’s hiding behind a fucking car checking his fingernails to prove to his brain that he’s safe, not in a cave cause there’s no shower to lock himself into and he can’t freaking move enough to slip into the car and the crowd’s still loud and filming and shit, at least one of them’s surely gone live with the footage. Fuck. 

Tony gulps down air that doesn’t feel like it reaches his lungs. His vision’s fraying around the edges. He’s gonna pass out if he doesn’t get a fucking lid on it but the thought of fainting in broad daylight, with witnesses around and already recording only increases his heart rate and – 

A hand on his arm. 

There’s a hand on his arm. Unfamiliar, but non-threatening. With a wedding ring.

Tony lifts his eyes. The hand belongs to Rogers. 

“That’s it, Stark. Deep breaths. You’re safe. Those men are locked away in our cruisers. Bucky scared off the civilians who were still filming. Most of them used StarkPhones, by the way.”

“Of course they did,” is what Tony wants to say, yet it comes out as a weird wheezing sound.

“They also got me being totally badass on video!” 

That’s Barnes. Tony blinks again. This time, his vision clears enough to make out Rogers’s worried frown and Barnes’s shit-eating grin. 

“Told them all my handle. They better tag me cause I was spectacular.”

“You were doing your job, Bucky.” 

“But in a totally badass way! C’m on, Stevie, this is gonna help recruitment!”

Rogers heaves the sigh of long-suffering partners everywhere. Tony thinks his voice is back online again so he can throw in a quip of his own but before he can, he spots the trickle of blood at the side of Rogers’s head. 

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

Barnes snorts. “Don’t believe him.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Tony says. “Uh, there’s a first aid kit in the… hang on, it’s a biometric lock – no, I can get up on my own, thank you very much.”

For a second it looks like he was lying but Tony manages by the skin of his teeth. The prospect of dazzling the Barnes-Rogers with the newest stuff from Stark Medical is a good distraction from the utterly embarrassing situation they caught him in.

At least until Barnes says, “So, you get them often?”

Bucky’s engrossed in applying the wound-closing gel after disinfecting the cut left by the lump ( _nothing my ass_ \- seriously, Rogers is worse than Tony at downplaying injuries), but apparently able to both play nurse and ask uncomfortable questions. 

Tony tilts his head. He’s back on the ground, leaning against the car cause his mind’s still a bit of a mess, separating memory from reality. 

“Panic attacks.”

“Oh, no, that wasn’t –” Tony begins cause that’s the official line, his go-to response. It doesn’t usually come with a flurry of memories, however, all of which include Peter Parker. 

Tony hesitates. Swallows. “Or… Well. Not… not often.”

When he looks up, two pairs of soft eyes are on him. Ugh, do they have to turn this into a moment?

“Nightmares, too?” Bucky wonders. “Cause they’re the worst.”

Steve shakes his head. “Nah. Hypervigilance. Dreams are over when you wake up.”

“Then you’re having some rosy nightmares, Rogers,” Tony manages. 

“Barnes-Rogers.”

Tony rolls his eyes and watches Barnes slap one of their special bandaids on Rogers’s gelled-up wound before inspecting the first aid kit with an interested glint in his gaze. 

“Ya know, you can say thank you by donating a bunch of these to the NYPD.”

“Bucky!”

“Ignore my husband,” Barnes says with a wide grin. “That’s a brilliant idea. Don’t you think so, Mr. Stark?”

“Sure,” Tony shrugs. He waits until Steve stops glaring at his partner and meets his eye. “Seriously, though… thank you.”

“Just doing my job, sir.”

Steve’s response sounds matter-of-factly enough that anyone else wouldn’t think twice about it, but Tony knows better. He holds the man’s gaze and hopes he manages to look sincere. 

“Yeah, sure, but... I mean it.” 

Steve makes to reply but pauses. Instead of another platitude, he gives Tony a careful nod, then climbs to his feet, checking their surroundings. 

“Gwenny’s already radioed this in as a ten-thirty-four. We gotta get the guys to MCB for processing.” 

Barnes tears his eyes away from his husband’s uniformed body and smirks at Tony. “We’ll call in case we need a statement from you. I figure we still got your number.”

After a beat, Tony manages a chuckle. “You’re a riot, Barnes.”

“It’s Barnes-Rogers,” he says with the smuggest grin Tony’s ever seen on anyone except himself, and leaves Tony with his back still against the side of his car. 

It’s only once he’s in the backseat with Bradley and Yin in the front, making their way through Midtown traffic, that Tony manages to relax to some extent. 

All things considered, it could have gone a lot worse. And a bunch of New York’s Finest coming to his aid like that’s surely gotta earn him a decent bump in his approval ratings, right? 

And maybe, just maybe, Peter will hear about how he admitted to the – nope, not thinking about Peter. Tony exhales at length. 

“Wasn’t that something, J?” 

“I’m afraid sir is being rather vague in his assessment.”

“Haha, consider it pack back, buddy,” Tony laughs, and counts down from ten cause Pepper’s certainly heard about the incident by now. 

*

Peter drops the pastry basket when Steve walks in. 

It’s empty but still scatters crumbs of muffins all over the floor behind the main counter, which earns him a ‘You’re going to clean this up yourself’ glare from Larissa, their newest hire.

But that can wait, cause there’s a bandage covering the side of Steve’s head. He’s still in uniform and looks exhausted. 

“Oh god, what happened?”

There’s a line of five people between him and his friend, all of whom turn to stare at Steve. 

“Later,” he says and motions towards the customers still waiting to be served. 

Peter would love to call them the last of the ‘early afternoon rush’ but there’s no such thing anymore at _The Hybrid Puppy_ , just busy times and slightly less busy times. Which is awesome, don’t get him wrong, Peter’s glad they’re doing so well cause it means that May won’t have to dip into her savings to cover therapy and Peter can go wild with ordering new coffee beans to create even more awesome blends… But, uh, it does get a bit much. Especially now that May’s on vacation. 

_“I can cancel, sweetie, it’s no problem,” she said but Peter knew better._

_“Even if, you shouldn’t. You deserve this, May. You’ve been wanting to take that trip for ages, even before Ben – I mean, I’ll be fine. I can handle it.”_

_“It’s three and a half weeks of your summer, Peter –”_

_“Yeah, which is why you gotta do this now. I got the time. Let it be my birthday present.”_

In the middle of week number three, however, Peter’s not so sure anymore. He’s managed the shop in the past when his aunt was, um, _under the weather_ , but that was before _The Hybrid Puppy_ became one of the sights of Manhattan for both locals and tourists to swarm. 

At least it keeps him busy enough to avoid thinking too much about the anniversary of his uncle’s death. Or Tony, for that matter. Or setting Google alerts. Or talking to JARVIS too much. 

Well, it’s more like he’s talking at JARVIS, and he only really does it when he can’t sleep, which isn’t much of a problem unless MJ and Ned have some news about their investigation or Peter sampled too many of the blends he’s trying to – 

“I said I want a Frappuccino.”

Peter schools his expression to hide his irritation. How hard is it to get that they’re not a Starbucks and don’t sell their stupid drinks? 

He convinces the mean tourist to try one of their Coffee Coolers and adds the guy’s order to the list of drinks for Larissa to prepare. Sometimes Peter misses when they still wrote that stuff on paper instead of sleek Stark tech cause then he could crumple it up and at least imagine throwing it at the customer.

This way he’s surrounded by constant reminders of Tony. 

Steve finally reaches the counter, though his brow furrows in confusion when Peter starts questioning him. 

“I’d have thought you’d have heard about it already.”

“What? What happened?”

“Why don’t you take a break, Parker?” Larissa suggests in a pointed tone that makes it sound more like an order.

Peter grumbles cause he prefers to do the exact opposite of what she thinks a situation needs most of the time since she’s the most arrogant, most annoying Fifth Avenue Barbie he’s ever met (okay, they’re usually on the other side of the counter) and he hates that he couldn’t really veto May hiring her after May told him she met her at her therapist’s office and hinted at why she’s there … Uh, where was he going with this? 

Oh, right. Into the break room with Steve since this time, Larissa’s idea isn’t actually half-bad. 

“You look tired, Peter.”

“You’re hurt,” he shoots back, pushing up on his toes to get a better look. 

Steve rolls his eyes and slaps his hands away. “Occupational hazard. When’s the last time you checked your phone?”

Peter points towards the handful of lockers in the corner. “I, uh, I keep it in my bag. The shop’s always pretty busy and it’s better if I’m, you know. Focusing on work.”

It has nothing to do with the memories of how he got the phone. Nothing at all. 

Steve still doesn’t explain anything. Instead, he produces his own mobile, some Android smartphone model – _“Ugh, kid, never call an Android smart in my presence ever again”_ – and thumbs at the screen for a minute before holding it out to Peter. 

He’s not prepared for what he sees. 

“Is Tony alright? Was he hurt? Did you speak to him after? What –”

“Calm down,” Steve interrupts, both palms raised. “He had a panic attack but he snapped out of it pretty quickly. Hid behind the car so no one was able to film him. Wasn’t even a big one, I think, cause otherwise Bucky and I wouldn’t have managed to pull him out of it.”

Peter has no idea where to start. 

“He – he said it’s a panic attack?”

“Yeah. Started off denying it but, well, it was pretty obvious. At least to people like us. He seemed fine when we left – Peter, are you okay?”

Peter nods desperately but he’s powerless against the wave of emotions that hit him. 

_“I’m a business man, Peter, not a role model. Don’t make me into a hero.”_

Back then, Tony lied without giving it a second thought.

“Hey, Peter, it’s okay.”

But it’s not, it really isn’t, cause Peter’s here and Tony’s at the Tower and they’re not allowed to talk or touch or tinker side-by-side even though it’s killing him while he’s gotta pretend that he’s okay. 

Steve pulls him into a hug then, and Peter gives up any pretense that he’s not crying. He clings to Steve’s uniform, letting the soothing whispers wash over him. They’re platitudes but for a second or two Peter imagines Steve’s telling the truth. 

Reality comes back to him much too soon. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. 

“Anytime. You wanna talk about it?” Steve respects it when Peter shakes his head. “Want me to go back out and order, or stay for a bit?”

“No, I, uh, I should get back, too. The yoga classes at the studio up on thirty-seventh let out soon. I gotta stop Larissa from giving them all whole-fat milk when they ask for non-fat.” 

“Why would she do that?” Steve sounds as horrified as Peter was the first time the girl told him about how she treats some of their customers. 

Once back behind the counter, Peter tells Larissa to keep working the till while he loses himself in preparing the drinks. To show his gratitude, he makes Steve’s caramel mocha with marshmallows and chocolate shavings – his favorite, which he rarely indulges in. 

With all the turmoil and yoga moms keeping Peter busy until his shift ends, he totally forgets that MJ finally managed to meet up with Cara Nahar today after weeks of emails and rain checks. 

His friends find him in the office shortly after shift change. He should be checking their supplies but the computer’s open on an Op-Ed about today’s incident at Monsanto. A Stark Industries representative gave a statement only half an hour ago revealing the launch of Stark Agriculture and the termination of the sterile seeds program. 

The program Peter criticized when he bumped into the plants in the workshop. 

“I swear, Parker, if you’re watching porn there I’ll never go undercover for you again.”

Peter startles so hard he spills half his coffee over his jeans. 

“Dude, didn’t you hear us knock?”

“Uh, yeah, sure –”

“You’re adorable when you try to lie,” MJ says, pulling out one of the two chairs in front of the desk, flipping it, and sitting down with her arms propped up on the back rest. “Play him the recording.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ned nods. He puts his own phone on the desk next to the computer monitor and pushes a button. 

Judging from the ambient sound, the coffee shop Cara Nahar chose wasn’t overly busy. Obviously she didn’t want to give _The Hybrid Puppy_ any profit cause, in MJ’s words, “she’s pretty scorned her date went off to fuck some twink in the middle of the wedding”. 

_“I envy you – well, both professionally and personally, that is,”_ MJ’s voice says. Peter’s never heard her sound so flattering. Anyone who knows her a bit better would be able to tell that she’s faking. _“You get to avoid Stark now. I had to finish my Junior year with Parker right there every single day. Ugh, the things I wanted to do to him…”_

_“Oh yes, that’s tough. But isn’t it summer now?”_

_“Sure, but we still have an entire year to go. You wouldn’t believe the revenge ideas I’ve come up with… Did he ever stop to think how I’d feel? No, because why should he care about some girl when a guy like Tony Stark wants to bang him?”_

_“I’m sorry… That weekend wasn’t good for my ego either.”_

_“Kudos on the person who exposed them, I say. Instant Karma, that’s what that was.”_

A pause. Sounds of shuffling… “That’s me leaning forward,” present-MJ explains. 

“What, you don’t think so? They totally had it coming.”

Cara Nahar’s hum is far from agreeable. _“A bit, maybe? Okay, I won’t say I wouldn’t love to get the chance to bitch-slap Tony should I ever see him again… you know, like they do in the movies? But…” She sighs. “A world with Tony Stark locked away in prison? Unable to invent and revolutionize? That gives me nightmares.”_

Ned pauses the recording. “MJ tried a bunch of different tactics but none of them got her to confess. I could still remotely access her photo library if you wanna make sure there’s no trace of the video if you want –” 

“What? No!”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s worth the hassle either… Sorry, man.”

Peter ignores Ned missing his point and looks to MJ instead. She’s wearing a grim expression. Damn. 

“So she didn’t leak the video either,” he concludes. 

Back to square one. 

*

Not that Peter has much time for playing Sherlock Holmes, considering he’s practically pulling seventy or eighty-hour weeks at the shop – oh, uh, no, “not seventy, closer to forty, MJ, really.” After all, his after-hours blend creation escapades count as free time. He’s all clocked-out and everything. 

“Be glad that the soup kitchens of New York respect child labor laws, or else I wouldn’t be able to pick up your slack, Parker.”

“Don’t listen to her, dude, we’re glad to help.”

“You’re just bored at Simon’s Tech Shop, Leeds.”

Ned grins. “So what? I get to know how jobs work, save up for my new GPU, and be the guy in the chair! And it even looks good on my applications!”

Peter can’t help returning his best friend’s smile. The prospect of Ned leaving for college in a year makes something clench inside his chest but Ned’s been dreaming of MIT ever since he realized he’d probably need a degree to be a programmer. 

Despite their help, the next two days pass without any new leads. They’re running out of guests and staff members to look into and in some of his darker moments, Peter wonders why they even bother. Like when he has another creepy older guy leering at him when ordering espresso and trying to be stealthy about it. 

Customers like that almost make him wish for more gossip tourists asking for pictures, or high school kids coming in all happy with their summer internships. 

Flash saunters in. 

Okay, Peter takes it back. 

“Long day ahead at the office,” Flash says, smirking. 

“Long day behind me. What can I get you? We have new savory muffins?”

The sooner he orders, the sooner he’ll leave. 

“Oh, great – just the thing to impress my supervisors even further. Give me all you’ve got left. And a café latte with two extra shots.” 

Wincing slightly, Peter starts bagging the seven zucchini-hummus muffins that the yoga moms tend to clear out. He’ll have a hoard of fuming women on his hands later, unless Toomes’s second delivery brings more…

“Hey, you heard about the thing on Monday?”

Peter regards Flash over the edge of the display case. 

“Silly question, yeah,” Flash says. “I’m sure you have every alert imaginable set to lock-screen notifications.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, interesting… Why? You’re still allowed to read about him, aren’t you?” Flash steeples his fingers along his jaw in a way that he probably thinks looks cool. “Or does it hurt you too much? I guess I wouldn’t torture myself either if I were in your position.”

“But let me guess,” Peter sighs, “you never would cause you’re too fast to get caught?”

He regrets his outburst immediately – though Flash doesn’t look affronted. Quite the contrary, for reasons that remain a mystery to Peter. 

Flash is back on Thursday. Ned’s there as well, first floor this time cause Peter and MJ okay’d some light hacking to help their investigation. Spying on people’s bank accounts makes Peter feel queasy and dirty but… Well, they need to find the culprit. 

“Anyone ever tell you, Parker, that eye shadows are supposed to be a mere decorative element?”

“Please just order.”

Flash squints at him. “Are you even fit to work? You look dead on your feet.”

Peter glares. 

“Guess doing service-based work such as this makes for a good distraction. Or are you pining into the coffees you serve, too? Is that your trade secret of late?”

“I’m not pining.”

“Defensive… Interesting.” 

“Can you please just order already?”

“I don’t see a line of caffeine-deprived New Yorkers up here. Tell me, does being surrounded by Stark tech make it easier to move on, or harder?”

Peter abandons the till and starts refilling the condiment station next to the pastry case where people can add sugar to their drinks. The napkins are running low, as is the water pitcher. 

“Harder, I take it. Makes sense. It’s been almost eight weeks, though – surely you’ve cried into ice cream often enough to feel better by now, don’t you?”

“Do you get all your knowledge on relationships from TV? No wonder you’re single again.”

Now it’s Flash’s turn to glare. “I assure you I have plenty of real-world experience.”

“With getting dumped? Yeah, I believe that,” Peter snaps, earning himself a scowl. 

“That’s not the way you should talk to your customers, Parker.”

“Right now, you’re just an annoying classmate who hasn’t ordered anything yet.”

“Gee, you’re prissy when you’re heartbroken. Better get it under control before school starts again or they’re gonna eat you alive.”

The start of senior year is still five weeks away, so Peter will be fine, he thinks. He’s been getting better… gradually, at least. Talking to Mr. JARVIS helps. 

Having Flash remind him of everything that happened, not so much. 

“Either order something or go.”

Flash snorts. “Wow, you’re intimidating. But sure, give me my usual.”

“You don’t have a usual.”

“Now you’re just being contrary.”

Peter huffs and grabs the milk jug to froth it for Flash’s triple-shot latte. 

He’s antsy for the rest of the day, drops two mugs, one of which breaks, then cuts his finger while cleaning up the shards. All he wants to do is fall into bed and sleep for a change, but he can’t cause Toomes is waiting for him to discuss next week’s order. 

_The Sweet Vulture_ is only a five-minute walk from _The Hybrid Puppy_ but couldn’t be further apart from it in terms of style. It’s a small shop, barely enough for twenty people to sit down, but then again there’s neither free wifi nor power sockets so that keeps the number of people who want to stay low to start with. 

Toomes refuses to remodel, even after Stark Industries offered, cause he doesn’t want to “be part of the scourge of hipster joints. This is a bakery, for fuck’s sake, you go in, you buy shit, you leave.”

Peter kind of admires his resolution. It’s all about the food, anyway, and he’s seen the lines that form in the morning and afternoon, so there’s really no reason to change the business model. 

When he enters, it’s half an hour to closing and the displays look pretty sad. 

Peter waves at Diego behind the counter, Toomes’s ‘understudy’ as he calls himself. Peter calls him a masochist - Toomes makes J.K. Simmons in that drummer movie look like a decent teacher. 

“Boss is in the office,” Diego tells him, then hands over the change to the senior lady holding open her wallet. 

“Don’t speak,” Toomes says when Peter enters, not looking away from his tablet. A StarkPad. Of course it is. 

Peter fidgets a bit, taking in the office. It looks different every day, somehow, cause Toomes refuses to go paper-free and still does his books by hand. Or his brainstorming for new creations. Peter ambles over to the whiteboard stand, one of the good ones with wheels at the bottom, and tries to decipher the baker’s messy scrawl. 

“You always snooping around other people’s business, son?”

Peter stops mid-motion. He was about to flip the board to see the other side but now turns an apologetic look on Toomes. 

“Sorry.”

“Nah, go ahead. Got some ideas for next week’s Taste Testers on ther-”

The rest of his sentence is drowned out by a resounding _CRASH_ from the shop. 

“What’s that tonto done now,” Toomes growls, already out of his chair and storming past Peter, who steps to the side to avoid being run over. He stumbles, grabbing the whiteboard for support. 

Of course the breaks aren’t engaged, and Peter half-crashes into the nearest shelf. He knocks over half a stack of folders and hurries to pick them up and put them back onto the box of copy paper – 

_Huh._

The other half of the stack of folders that’s still in place has shifted a bit, revealing what looks like blueprints at the bottom. 

Peter can hear Toomes shouting out front, so he shifts the folders in his arms to free one hand in order to nudge the other files away from – 

_What the…_

But no, he’s not imagining this. 

Those are the blueprints for the arc reactor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... *cackles in the distance* ...


	25. twenty-five

Peter quickly sets everything down, including the files covering the rest of the blueprints. 

He gapes at them for a second before his brain boots up again and he fumbles for his phone. He only drops it once before snapping several pictures of the documents.

Footsteps echo outside – shit, that’s Toomes.

Peter puts everything back in place, doesn’t even lose balance completely, and has flipped the whiteboard not a second too late. 

The baker enters, cursing under his breath. “Fucking useless, that’s what he is; can’t even shelf trays right, never shoulda hired the guy…”

Peter uses the rant to catch his breath. His mind’s racing, pinging back and forth between worst case scenarios and what’s probably more reasonable explanations. 

“So, what do ya think?”

Oh, right, Toomes wants his opinion.

“Uh, the, um, t-the orange ginger cupcakes sound good? Or the, uh, matcha mocca muffins? I think the yoga moms would love them.”

“Well, then my life’s mission is complete if I earn the favor of _yoga moms_ ,” Toomes snorts. “What about the chocolate donuts with bacon sprinkles?”

Peter doesn’t have to fake his disgust. “We don’t have that many pregnant customers, really.” 

“And no clue about revolutionary cuisine either, apparently. Fine, then I’m gonna keep ‘em here. What about the regular order, the quantities still okay?”

“Uh, well… h-hang on, Mr. Toomes, let me check my notes…”

It takes them another fifteen minutes to hash out the exact numbers and possible back-ups in case of emergencies – like a bus full of senior citizens with a sudden craving for Manhattan’s famous pastries – and then Peter’s sent off with a gruff “Now leave me alone and for fuck’s sake, son, get some sleep.”

*

The Board loses their collective shit when Tony vetoes Gruber’s money-saving, layoff-incurring plan and presents his alternative. 

Five members call him a socialist, though three of them immediately shut up when Pepper reveals she’s on Tony’s side in all this. 

“You’re a goddamn disgrace to Howard’s legacy!” Cavendish bellows. He’s about a hundred years old and the only Board member who outlived both Tony’s father and Obie, if for no other reason than his pull with senators. 

“What, this is your limit? For real? You were fine with shutting down our weapons production but you hit the emergency breaks when I’m putting people first?” 

“Everyone who fought in Nam woulda shut ‘em down a hell of a lot sooner, Sonny,” Cavendish says. “But they wouldn’t condone this socialist agenda!” 

“Or any other agenda he’s pushing,” Gruber mutters. 

It all goes downhill from there. 

At the end of the day, Tony has kicked Gruber, Cavendish and Mrs. You-Need-Jesus-In-Your-Life off the Board without a single word of protest from Pepper. 

Remy is less thrilled. 

“Three members! Now! You realize we can’t refute the rumors this will cause? Not before –”

“– before I announce the revised plans for the plant in Atlanta, yeah, yeah. But hey, I was saved by a queer cop! I’m terminating the terminator seeds! That’s gotta count for something, right?” 

The look Remy gives him tells a different story, which is why Tony resorts to his favorite new way of escaping the life of a billionaire genius business man...

He joins his Department of Sanitation buddies for a drink. 

It’s a regular thing Tony got invited to in his second week of community service. By that point he’d proven to everyone that he’s not afraid of getting his hands dirty and a pretty diligent worker (when he’s not upgrading machines and disrupting the entire garbage sorting process, that is). 

The guys – and gals – meet up every Thursday in the sort of establishment no paparazzi has ever set foot in and Tony needs to dig up his rattiest clothes to blend in. 

The gang knows who he is, yet would never rat him out. You gotta admire that sort of, of, well… that sort of _brotherhood_ , for lack of a better word. What’s even better is that not a single one of them has asked him for money after Burt, the unofficial leader of the bunch, slapped Jamie over the head.

Tony repays them all by buying at least three rounds of drinks each time he manages to join. 

“Had a feeling you’d be coming tonight.” 

Tony grins at Roberta, the feisty barwoman who could be his grandmother. He sorta wishes she were; she has tattoos and hated Howard Stark. And while she might look like a little old lady, she can drink any of her patrons under the table, including…

“Tony-O!” Burt booms when he catches sight of him. 

Everyone cheers as Tony sets the first round down and starts talking at once. It takes him a moment to switch into the right mindset – he just spent a grueling three hours holed up with Remy to figure out the best angle to market the arc reactor tech to the public with no clear solution in sight. 

Well… This wouldn’t be the first time Tony has used his former colleagues as a focus group. 

“Hey, how much are you guys’ power bills?” 

The numbers they tell him don’t sound particularly bad – until he remembers to chalk them up against what a DSNY employee makes in a month. 

“Okay, imagine there’s something like nuclear power but without the waste... just the same amount of risk of a meltdown. Or, well, less than that, even. Anyway, imagine you could get your power from that and it’d be hella cheap. Would you go for it?”

“I’d take that risk any day,” Osric pipes up. 

Lupita kicks his leg under the table. “Cause you’re dumb.”

“Yeah, nuclear winter would suck. Or living on a space station.” Nora wrinkles her nose. “I don’t want our lives to turn into a bad copy of _The 100_.” 

“Ha, you’re one to talk, sisters,” Jamie says. “Try feeding three kids and a pregnant wife on our dime and then let’s see if you still woulda choose that safer shit if the other saves you a decent buck.”

The discussion runs in circles for a while but it boils down to Tony totally doing the right thing. Cheep, almost free energy equals happier people cause they got less bullshit to worry about. And Tony’s in a position to help. 

How could he have been so blind to all of this? 

Or, well, not _blind_ per se… It’s not like he didn’t know folks lived in poor conditions in New York and around the country. He’s just been… willfully ignorant. 

Until Peter came along. 

When Tony leaves with the rest of the gang, he’s only got a little buzz going. Well, tomorrow’s a work day and not everyone can hole up in their workshop all morning if they’re too hungover to talk to people. 

Part of the mental holiday includes walking to the nearest subway station… where he’ll get into his car. What? He might be slumming it but there are limits. 

He gets lost a bit in thoughts about bills and Peter and arc reactor security and _shit_ , he’s way too sober for this. Or rather, he’s the kind of tipsy where his impulsivity gets out of control. Better get to his car before he does something fundamentally stupid, like drive to Queens. 

What happens instead is that someone tries to mug him. 

Mug. Him. 

“Gimme your wallet,” the thug mumbles. Oh, great, the gun’s shaking in his grip. 

“Jeez, fine, pal, just give me a sec…”

Tony searches for his wallet – the thug better be glad he’s carrying cash at all, cause Roberta’s doesn’t accept VISA and “No, _dreykop_ , I’m not gonna install it either,” or else Tony couldn’t enable this guy’s yearning for a fix –

Hold on. 

He knows this druggie. It takes him a moment to remember the name. 

“Aaron?”

The thug startles violently. Tony should probably disarm him… if he had combat-ready reflexes like Rhodey. 

“Wha’, we met or something?”

“Well, you once robbed me of a bunch of pastries for a late-night snack.” He pulls off his baseball cap for good measure. 

“Shit.” Aaron stares, from Tony’s face down to the three hundred dollars in his hands, then to the gun he’s still aiming at Tony. 

“Yeah, what are the odds? City of what, eight-point-five million and you’re mugging _me_.”

“What’re you doing in Brooklyn? Parker’s in Queens.”

“And I’m not allowed to see him. Or talk to him. Restraining order, you see.”

Aaron grimaces. “Sucks.”

“You have no idea,” Tony sighs. 

The next few seconds pass in awkward silence. Tony flounders. There’s still a gun pointed at his face. 

“So, Aaron, what about you? Last I heard, you were clean and making a liv–”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Aaron explodes. “And don’t you go snitch either!”

Tony holds up his hands. “Just told you, buddy. I can’t. The judge said so.”

“Oh… right.”

Tony swallows and wets his lip. His mouth has gone dry. He doubts the guy would willfully shoot him but he wasn’t technically listening when Peter told him about how proud he is of Aaron for finding a place and staying off crack so he’s got no real frame of reference. 

He schools his face into a neutral expression before seeking Aaron’s eye. “How long’ve you been back on the stuff?”

Aaron tenses. It doesn’t hide the tremors in his hands, including the one still pointing the gun. Great, just what Tony’s week needs: getting shot in Brooklyn during a mugging. If the bullet doesn’t kill him, Remy will. 

“I get it, pal. Kicking that habit, that’s tough shit. Took me three stints in rehab. How many have you got?”

“… One.”

“See? No reason to give up yet.”

“You ain’t got no idea how hard it is to just put food on the table, man. Can’t just leave my family alone for weeks sitting in a circle and listening to bitches crying. Don’t got money for that shit.”

Tony directs a pointed look at the bills Aaron took off him.

“Nah, that ain’t for me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“For real, it’s for my nephew. Got into some trouble with some people and his old man’s still locked up and his ma got enough shit to deal with.”

“So you’re playing Samaritan?”

“Somebody’s gotta do it.”

“You thought about asking –” 

“Hell no. Parker’s got enough shit to deal with, too, what with Mrs. Parker on vacation and all. Can’t go to her neither.”

“How much?”

The question slips out before Tony manages to stop himself. He can still take it back, right, he didn’t explicitly offer anything –

_“But,”_ a voice inside his head pipes up, _“you’re in a position to help.”_

Yeah, right. No backsies. 

“A fucking lot.” The desperation in Aaron’s tone draws him back into the present. 

Tony smirks. “I have a hunch your definition of ‘a fucking lot’ and mine differ slightly.”

Aaron takes a few seconds to process this but chuckles once he has. “Yeah man, fifty thousand bucks are like pocket money to ya, ain’t it?”

Tony shrugs. “Pretty much. But what the hell’s your nephew done that’s worth fifty grand?”

Aaron averts his gaze. His mumbled explanation’s so low Tony has trouble catching it. “Dropped a box on a job. Turns out he broke some expensive vase or some bullshit. Now he’s gotta pay for it or the Bonanno family’s gonna take it outta his hide.”

“How old’s your nephew?”

Aaron swallows. “Thirteen.”

Fuck. Thirteen and in debt with one of the Five Families. Any chance of Tony not getting involved is officially gone. 

“Starting young these days….”

“Pretty late for him, actually,” says Mr. Never-Heard-of-a-Rhetorical-Question. 

Tony ignores that. He lifts his arms again in what’s hopefully a placating manner. “Alright. I propose a deal. You even get to keep the three hundred bucks.”

Aaron lifts his head, eyes filling with curiosity. 

“I’m gonna pay your nephew’s debt. In exchange, you don’t shoot me and get your ass to a treatment facility.”

“That don’t make no sense –”

“Solves your problems, though.”

“Why’d you wanna pay for Jamal’s shit?”

“You’re the guy with the gun.” 

It’s far from the truth, but it’s enough to make Aaron realize he’s still holding Tony at gunpoint. He lowers the weapon – fucking _finally_ – and even has the nerve to say, “Sorry, man,” before falling silent. 

Tony would’ve expected him to jump at the offer. Or, wait… 

“So you don’t wanna get clean, that it?”

“Nah, I do…”

“Then shut up and take the fucking offer.” 

When the guy still doesn’t look convinced, Tony huffs. Fine, he has more aces up his sleeve. “Look, I’ll pull some strings, get you into a really good place. My first stint was at that spa-type thing, ugh, made me crave a kick even more than before. But my second clinic… Yeah, guess you’d like it there.”

“You ain’t kidding.” It’s a statement, not a question. 

“I’ll write that cheque now if you promise not to shoot.”

Which is how Tony spends $50,000 to get some kid’s life back on track and has JARVIS put Aaron on the waiting list for the rehab facility upstate. 

“I’ll check up on you, buddy,” Tony tells him as they’re about to part. “I figure you got until Monday before they call you about a free spot. Don’t do anything stupid. And tell your boss. Bosses,” he amends, cause he thinks he remembers Peter saying something about the guy working multiple jobs to break even. 

Aaron nods solemnly. Tony hopes he’ll just get out of his hair, not feel the necessity of making a big deal out of –

“Why you doing this, man?” 

Too late. 

Tony fakes a grin. “Gaining brownie points. Karma’s been a bitch to me lately.”

Aaron keeps looking at him, however, so he loses some of the bravado. Maybe better to give the guy something to motivate him. 

“I figure, why not? Won’t hurt me much. And… you know, Peter was really proud when you got your act together.”

Shame colors Aaron’s gaze as he breaks eye contact, and he’s finally ready to leave. Before he does, though, Aaron gives him his first smile of the evening.

“You really ain’t half as bad as Mason says you are.” 

The guy walks off, pocketing the gun as well as the cash. 

Tony blinks after his retreating form. 

His mind is stuck on a single word – Mason. Why does that name sound so familiar?

He closes the last couple of yards between him and the car like he’s sleep-walking and throws himself into the back seat. 

“JARVIS, who is Mason?”

“Possible matches include Phineas Mason, former head of engineering of Project City Water.”

JARVIS projects Mason’s employee records into the space between the front seats and hell yeah, Tony remembers firing that imbecile. Was whining about his pregnant wife, or something. 

“Run a trace on him,” he orders. “I want a full briefing when I get to the workshop.”

*

Peter rushes back to _The Hybrid Puppy_ and slips into the office by means of the staff entrance. A few clicks and the photos he took of the specs are projected into the air for him to inspect. 

At first he thinks it’s just one of these posters – people have drawn stylized sketches of Tony’s arc reactor and sold them as art in the past, so it wouldn’t be too unlikely. Or, well, if they were talking about literally anyone other than Toomes cause hell would freeze over before the baker hung up a print of any of Tony’s inventions. 

Maybe it’s a bad replica or a guess at the real schematics from a second-rate engineer?

Peter leans closer to inspect the inscriptions dotting the blueprint. 

His stomach drops. 

That’s Tony’s handwriting. 

So they _are_ the actual schema– or are they? 

Thing is, Peter knows the arc reactor, like, intimately. He’s asked Tony about a gazillion question and understood most of the answers, and he can’t shake the feeling that something’s, well, off. 

He grabs a pen and paper, plus his calculator. He’s gonna find out what. 

*

“How can that fucker afford to buy a freaking brownstone in Manhattan on his severance package?”

“An educated guess, sir, would suggest additional activity of an illegal persuasion to supplement his income. Do you want me to run a thorough analysis?”

Tony almost agrees but hesitates. “If I agree, you gonna throw Protocol Impaired Judgment at me, aren’t you, buddy?”

“Sir’s blood alcohol level is sufficient to meet the parameters of said protocol.”

Tony puts down the glass he just poured. The ensuing _clunk_ echoes through his workshop with the inevitability of Protocol Impaired Judgment.

“Fine,” he says, “call Bruce.”

The man in question arrives fifteen minutes later. 

“I swear if you’re about to hack Peter’s phone again,” is as far as Bruce gets before noticing the picture in the holographic file.

“What, you familiar with this guy?” Tony asks. 

“He…” Bruce pauses, brow creasing. “No, yes, he was in contact with the Arquettes. Not directly enough to be suspicious… but I’ve seen him before. Is he the mole, then? The _real_ mole?”

Tony’s about to protest any rendition of ‘I told you so’ but a gasp from Bruce derails his thought. Bruce doesn’t explain anything, though, just starts rifling through files until he pulls up a list of phone calls to Conleth Piper-Ferguson, SI’s former chief of staff who’s currently in jail awaiting trial after confessing to selling confidential information. The calls are all from burner phones, and thus untraceable. 

“Oh, come on, Bruce, not this again.”

“Just a moment, I almost – JARVIS, can you… thanks.”

Bruce motions to five clusters of grainy CCTV footage that have appeared. 

“JARVIS was able to triangulate where the calls originated and –”

“What the hell, why don’t _you_ have a Protocol Impaired Judgment?” Tony interrupts cause this is just the height of hypocrisy, seriously. So Bruce gets to invade people’s privacy but Tony needs a chaperone when he’s had a couple of drinks?

“Tony, stop fussing and _look_ ,” Bruce tells him, grabbing his shoulders and turning him towards the nearest cluster. Mason is there, phone at his ear, carrying a paper bag. 

“That’s the only time he was caught in the vicinity of where JARVIS pinpointed the calls to Piper-Ferguson. I knew it was too circumstantial to think about taking legal steps – or maybe I should have.” 

“Don’t,” Tony says. “Don’t go down that rabbit hole.” He scans the other four image clusters… and freezes. “Is that Toomes?”

“The baker?”

Another call, another location. Toomes isn’t on the phone in the footage unlike so many of the passers-by, but he’s there. Something gnaws at the back of Tony’s mind. 

“JARVIS, zoom in on that paper bag.”

“Tony, what –”

“Gimme a – fuck.”

His inkling was right. Mason is carrying a paper bag from _The Sweet Vulture_. 

*

Peter redoes his calculations three times, but the results remain the same. 

Someone’s made a grave error. 

But what would a _baker_ do with these schematics anyway? Given how often Toomes calls Peter to fix some appliance or other, he doubts he’s hiding expert-level engineering skills… even if, why would he try to replicate the arc reactor tech? Doesn’t he get how dangerous that is, even if he weren’t working off flawed blueprints?

Peter has to do something. He needs to tell Tony. 

But he can’t – not yet. 

He drops his head onto the desk with a groan. 

The solution comes to him after some excessive pacing – which is hard to pull off in the small office – and it’s so easy he’s stunned he didn’t think of it immediately. 

“Mr. JARVIS?” he calls, then explains the situation as quickly as he can. “… and now I need you to tell Tony about it, but also to _not_ tell him cause then we’d be violating his probation, or, or technically he would be, so you’ve got to treat this as an anonymous tip!” 

“I shall inform sir of the development as soon as possible, Mr. Parker.”

Peter releases the breath he was holding and some of the adrenalin recedes from his system. He wants nothing more than to add something, play it off as an anonymous message, too… 

_JARVIS could hide it_ , he thinks for the millionth time since the verdict. 

It’s so, so tempting. 

It’s also the worst idea ever, cause Peter knows they’d never be able to stop once they started. It would escalate before either of them knows what’s happening and no, Peter can’t take the risk of making everything worse. 

He’ll manage. He has a plan, after all. 

*

“JARVIS, cross-reference GPS data for Phineas Mason and Adrian Toomes. Start with when I fired Mason.”

Bruce presses the palms of his hands against his eyes and groans. “I missed it.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should’ve been more thorough.”

“You’re not that kind of doctor, remember? Or are you hiding a Ph. D. in Forensic Science you never told me about? Yeah, thought so.”

Bruce doesn’t look soothed, however, not that Tony can fault him for it. But getting lost in ‘what if’s is pointless. He learned that decades ago. 

While JARVIS sifts through months worth of data, Tony flexes his hacking skills and checks both men’s financial records with Bruce watching over his shoulder. 

They find considerable earnings in Mason’s accounts as well as a bunch of fake, offshore holding companies, though nothing out of the ordinary on Toomes’s end. 

“Maybe a loved one?” Bruce suggests. “He might have family needing expensive care.”

“Daughter,” Tony suddenly remembers and dives back in. 

Yup, looks like Daddy Toomes is financing his daughter’s unpaid internship. And her apartment. And her car. 

“Uh, Tony?”

He follows Bruce’s finger, which is pointing at another transaction in Mason’s name. 

$250,000, dated May 27th… 

… from the Home Box Office. 

“That fucking _PIG_ ,” Tony shouts. “I make his bakery a national sensation and give him work and he _films us_?!”

“Well, his shop is called _Sweet Vulture_.”

“Not the time, Bruce,” Tony snaps. 

He’s never felt more furious in his life, or more betrayed. At least with Obie, he did something to directly affect the guy, but with Toomes he, what? Got in the way of his blue-collar sensibilities? Boo-fucking-hoo. 

“What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing,” Tony hisses, already halfway across the workshop and heading to the garage. 

“It looks like you’re acting without thinking.”

Oh, Tony’s thinking clearly alright. He feels like he sees the entire picture for the first time since May, complete with a greedy, ungrateful son of a bitch who threw the kid Tony heard him call ‘son’ under the bus, all just to hurt Tony. 

Bruce catches up with him then and steps in his path. “Would just please _think_ already? You can’t confront him, Tony, you don’t know the entire story and you’re still _on probation_.”

“Oh, and why’s that?” he snarls. “Right, cause fucking Toomes –”

“Yes, and whatever you do won’t change that. And it’ll be even longer before you can see Peter again if you get yourself arrested for assaulting someone for something we have no means of proving he did.”

“Sir,” JARVIS says before Tony can lash out at his friend. “I have received an anonymous tip.”

“You – you don’t receive anonymous _anythings_ , J.” 

Bruce releases Tony’s shoulders but grips his wrist instead. Tony allows himself to be dragged back to where JARVIS has added another item to the projections. 

It’s a blueprint for the arc reactor. Or rather, a bunch of pictures of a blueprint of the arc reactor.

“I… I got nothing, buddy. What’s this about?”

“An anonymous source has discovered these documents in the office of _The Sweet Vulture_ and checked the schematics for errors. This person found minor but possibly detrimental flaws in the designs.”

Tony’s heartbeat stutters cause there’s only one person beside him who could pull that off, and that person would be required to reach out anonymously cause they’re still not allowed to freaking _talk_. 

Anger flares in his chest but that becomes secondary when Tony spots what the kid’s referring to by ‘detrimental flaws’ a moment later: The density of the inner circuit is much too low considering the rest of it’s been re-adapted back to the model that still used palladium. 

Should anyone build this thing, it’s gonna blow. If they’re not already doing it. 

“Change of plans,” he announces. 

“We had a plan?” Bruce teases, but Tony shushes him.

“We do now.” 

*

“Sir has been appraised of the situation. He is handling it,” JARVIS pipes up ten minutes later and then doesn’t reply to any of the follow-up questions Peter can’t keep himself from asking. 

It’s late, and he has to open up the shop tomorrow. He should sleep.

Obviously, he doesn’t. Or, well, doesn’t sleep _much_. He dozes off around two and is wide-awake around five so he simply heads into work early. At least he’s got a reason to sample some of the new blends he’s been experimenting with today. 

Ned may swoon about the perks of his job at the computer repair shop, but they don’t include access to copious amounts of caffeine. 

Not one of the perks: annoying classmates who look much too awake for 6.30 AM. 

“You’re not a morning person, are you, Parker?”

Flash is wearing yet another suit, which is ridiculous because no teenager needs that many suits, especially not a summer intern. 

“Fine, just give me my usual; I’m sitting in on an important meeting at eight.”

“Why are yo… no, I really don’t care.”

Flash arches an eyebrow. “Guess who won’t get any gratuity today?”

Peter has some choice words at the tip of his tongue about where exactly Flash can shove his tip, but then he remembers there’s a line of high-strung PAs and Associates waiting for their coffee fixes. The woman behind Flash is already glaring at him, so Peter opts to be the bigger man and is extra-nice to everyone who overheard Flash being a dick. 

“Watching the clock only makes time go by slower.”

Peter turns towards Larissa, who’s using the brief lull to play with her phone. “No, it makes us perceive time as going by –”

“Duh,” she cuts him off. “Not my point, boss. Stop looking at the clock every few seconds. It’s making me nervous.”

Peter tries cause she’s right, sort of, but it’s difficult when Mr. Kassell could appear at any moment. 

When he finally waltzes in at around eleven, he’s smiling at Peter. 

“Mr. Kassell! How’d it –” 

“As expected. Filing a motion is always quite dull. I did happen to catch Mrs. Torres on my way out, however,” he adds with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I informed her of the new situation and she agreed to make sure it goes before a judge on Monday so he can set a hearing date.”

“A hearing? But –”

“Now don’t look like a kicked puppy, Mr. Parker. I told you it’s highly unlikely for them to just dismiss it and Mrs. Torres was very clear that she won’t agree should the judge even try.”

Peter swallows down his frustration. “When will they let Tony know?”

“Late on Monday, at the earliest.”

The thought of Tony’s face when his legal department tells him makes Peter grin. He’d love to see it – maybe if he asks nicely, JARVIS will share a screenshot? 

Mr. Kassell’s mouth twists into a smirk. “Oh yes, I’ll enjoy that hearing. It’s been weeks since I got to wipe the floor with a DA, and months since I made legal history.”

The attorney’s confidence is reassuring, and the post-lunch rush manages to keep Peter from daydreaming the entire time. Instead he spends five minutes advising a grey-haired lady on which coffee to order, settling Larissa with the rest of the line. On Fridays it’s Krav Maga takers, who have zero patience for any of her bullshit. 

The lady ends up buying a mild, half-decaf blend with coconut milk and leaves with a contented smile that translates into a ten dollar bill in the tip jar. 

Just when his day has begun to look up, though, Flash returns. 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” is Peter’s way of greeting. 

“Who says I’m not?”

“Oh, did your supervisors finally tell you to get out of their hair?” 

The insult rolls right off Flash, who demands his usual and settles down at one of the last empty tables. Peter keeps a weary eye on him but all he does is pull out his StarkPad and start working on something. 

He’s still there an hour later, which Peter finds highly suspicious, when MJ and Ned appear with a bag of used electronics. 

“Office?” Ned asks, holding it up. 

Peter nods, then goes about making them all drinks. 

“You know,” Larissa says, “just because you’re the boss doesn’t mean you get to spend your shift entertaining your weird friends.”

“That’s exactly what it means,” Peter shoots back because his patience is gone after waiting all day to finally do _something_. 

When he opens the office door, Ned has already booted up his laptop and spread out the equipment Peter asked for. 

“Alright, Parker, get started. We only have an hour before Toomes arrives with the second delivery,” MJ orders. “I want to run a few tests before we commence this operation.”

“Ey, have some faith in us!” Ned protests. “We totally got this.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, have you ever built a tracking device before?”

“Guys,” Peter intervenes, “I need to concentrate.”

That shuts both of them up for long enough that Peter can assemble the bug. At least his insomnia was good for memorizing the tutorials he found online.

He’s still incredibly nervous when Toomes lets himself in through the staff door, but their plan goes off without a hitch. MJ manages to distract the baker with a bunch of questions so Toomes lets Peter do the rest of the heavy lifting. 

By the time Toomes is driving back to _The Sweet Vulture_ , there are two tracking devices on his person as well as another one on his van. 

Ned spins in the desk chair and stretches his arms with a cheer. Even MJ looks impressed, but only for a moment before turning to Peter. 

“Come on, Parker. We need headsets, too.”

*

Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling really, really cool right now. 

They’re tracking Toomes’s signal to an industrial area in Brooklyn, with Ned keeping them updated from his chair and MJ keeping Peter from being too conspicuous on the subway train. 

Seriously, he feels like he’s in a spy movie. 

“Stop grinning like a crazy person, Parker.”

“Sorry.”

“You should stick with engineering or chemistry since you’d make a terrible FBI agent.”

“Hey, I’m not so bad!”

MJ doesn’t dignify that with a response. 

“Guys, guys, he stopped moving,” Ned says in their ears. “Get off at the next stop, I’ll direct you from there.”

“So is it an abandoned warehouse?” 

“Uh, no, sorry.”

MJ’s smirk falters, but Peter perks up. “An abandoned residence, then?”

“Also no. Looks like no one won the bet.”

“Yeah, fine, then would you tell us the location already?” MJ says with a huff. 

“Please hold a moment.”

MJ’s huff turns into a groan while Peter chuckles. 

“Ah, here – oh, cool,” Ned says over the comms. “It’s an abandoned subway station!”

Huh. 

“How very Empty Hearse of him,” MJ mutters, then rolls her eyes when neither Peter nor Ned react to her reference. 

“Let’s see if I can,” Ned mutters above the sound of typing. “Ah, yes. Built in the late 1930s but never used because… oh, because they didn’t need it anymore when the lines were all consolidated into one subway system in the forties. Do you want more intel on –”

“No,” MJ says immediately. “See if you can find plans of the station.”

Ned can’t, even though he has almost fifteen minutes before Peter and MJ reach the location he gave them. It’s a poor neighborhood with a lot of shops sitting empty and the majority of buildings in a state of disrepair. 

Also no subway station. 

“Shouldn’t we be able to see it?” Peter wonders. “You said it’s over ground.” 

“Uh, yes, technically, um,” Ned stammers. “Oh! That’s so cool!”

“What, Leeds?”

“According to Wikipedia, some private investors wanted to convert the station into a shopping mall but ran out of money before they could finish it.”

Ned gleefully directs them around the corner and into a parallel street where the half-finished mall sits behind wire mesh and concrete walls, no obvious entrance in sight. 

“Guess we have to do some recon?” Peter suggests. 

They split up to save time and Peter heads off to the right while MJ circles around the in the other direction. Peter finds a hole in the fence halfway down his path. 

“I’m going in.”

“What, no!” MJ’s voice protests in his ear. 

“You shouldn’t both go in at the same time,” Ned says. “What if something collapses, guys? Then it’ll be good to have a man on the outside. Or woman. Sorry.”

“ _Fine._ ”

The mall is nothing more than bare concrete at this stage. Most windows are barred shut so it’s pretty dark inside but there’s enough light for Peter to save his phone battery, which is already depleting fast cause they’re routing the headset signal through Bluetooth. 

Keeping quiet won’t prolong the time they have, unfortunately, but Peter keeps his mouth shut anyway since it would be really embarrassing to be caught by Toomes before Peter has a chance to figure out what the man is planning. Also possibly dangerous, if the baker has really found a way to build the reactor, which Peter will only believe if he sees –

Shit. 

He jerks back behind the corner he was about to round cause there’s someone in the hallway. The glimpse he caught was too brief to make out if it’s Toomes or some accomplice, but whoever the dark figure is, they are drawing closer. 

Peter’s pulse spikes. There’s nowhere to hide and he doubts his gymnastic skill will translate into self-defense.

The person’s footsteps are coming nearer and Peter’s running out of time. He doesn’t have anything he could use as a weapon, only his phone but – wait. The flashlight app. 

Peter pulls it out of his pocket and hunches over the screen. He winces when he sees the battery percentage but doesn’t stop until he’s covering the activated flashlight with his hand. 

The person’s almost there. 

Peter takes a deep breath. He can do this. He just needs to blind them and then run off. 

The footsteps are right around the corner. This is it, now or never – 

Peter explodes into movement, leaping into the person’s path and withdrawing his hand from the back of his phone. There’s a resounding – and very male – “Fuck!” as the light blinds the man . Peter’s already turning around but a flash of recognition makes him freeze. 

It can’t be. 

For a million different reasons – least of all Peter’s sanity – the person regaining their footing and swearing under his breath really can’t be…

But it is. 

The man catches on a moment later, anger vanishing into thin air as he blinks back at Peter. 

It’s Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... *gasps for breath*... damn, I think I might have cracked a rib from resisting the temptation to reveal or hint at the Evil Masterplan much, much sooner than this. 
> 
> If you saw Toomes-as-villain coming, I hope it was still enjoyable to read the confirmation =) 
> 
> Hehe, I'll return to Cliffhanger Hell now...


	26. twenty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's updating incredibly soon? Really couldn't leave you hanging like that =)  
> ... aaand I need something good and pure and joyful today after the one year anniversary of one of the most awful experiences of my life, which turned into quite the life lesson for me as a writer. [I wrote a thing on tumblr](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/post/169729988219/written-by-jayez-aka-multifandom-madnesss-last), if you're curious. Warning for Sherlock fandom feels. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I cannot stress enough how limited my understanding of physics and related engineering is. The science in this chapter is a more-or-less healthy combination of real-life phenomena, Ryan Carlyle’s [arc reactor essay](https://gizmodo.com/how-iron-mans-arc-reactor-probably-works-1661613682), and artistic liberty. Consider yourself warned.

Tony stares. 

This has gotta be a hallucination – only he didn’t drink enough for that to happen today and besides, there’s no way he’d imagine Peter in the midst of danger. 

No, this is definitely real. 

“Tony.”

“Peter,” he breathes. “Kid.” 

His mind is completely silent. 

There’s nothing. 

No thought, only looking at Peter and taking him in. He’s standing taller, somehow, like he’s grown more confident. Peter seems to have matured beyond what Tony expected, yet at the same time exhaustion is written in to his features, shadows under his eyes hinting at how hard the past months have been on him. 

It’s been too long, way too long. 

Peter’s finally looking at him and he’s looking right back, rooted to the spot and unable to move even if he wanted to. But Tony never wants to leave this moment. 

“Y-you’re – you’re here,” Peter says, sounding dazed. 

Tony takes what feels like the first deep breath since May. His lips curl into a smile and his mind’s still silent. It’s hard to form a coheren–

 _WHRUM._

Both of them jerk around and just like that, the moment shatters into a million pieces. Thoughts flood him, and the reason he’s here comes back to him. 

“Shit.”

“Was that… W-what was that?” Peter stammers. 

Tony’s stomach churns. “Well, given that they turned the thing on two hours ago, I’d reckon that’s the electrostatic charge accumulations starting to get too much for the reactor.”

“They, who’s –? So Toomes built –”

“Yeah, that fucking baker and some guy called Mason, he used to work for me until I fired his useless ass,” Tony explains as quickly as he can while also pulling out his tablet and checking the updated energy readings that JARVIS has been keeping an eye on. 

“And it’s been running for two hours?!” Peter sounds as panicked as Tony feels cause “It’s not gonna last much longer, there’s an error in th–”

“– density of the inner torus ring, yeah, yeah, why’d you think I brought a screwdriver to a gunfight?” 

Tony grimaces at the subpar quip and points to his utility belt. 

Peter seems to realize for the first time that Tony’s in denim and a Metallica T-shirt and carrying half his workshop equipment at the belt. Tony sweeps his own gaze along the lines of the body he’s missed so freaking much but doesn’t make it further than the hem of the _Hybrid Puppy_ shirt before Peter jolts. 

He’s clutching his phone in one hand, the phone Tony gave him for his birthday, the day they first – 

_Stop it, Stark. Not the time, nor the place._

“No, no, no, no…” Peter mutters, thumbing at the dark screen. 

Well, the kid running out of battery because he forgot to charge his phone or switch to power save mode is something Tony seriously didn’t miss. 

“Wait, who’re you communicating with? Scratch that, how’d you even know where to go?” 

Peter jams the dead phone into the pocket of his open zip hoodie with a huff. It takes another second before he answers. “We bugged Toomes.”

“You…”

“Ned’s been tracking him – he’s my guy in the chair. The voice in my ear,” he adds with the hint of a smile as well as with a motion towards the side of his head. Wait, is that an earpiece? Self-made, by the looks of it. 

“You know, kid, you weren’t supposed to take that Kingsman manip seriously.”

“Huh?”

“The mock poster that the Show That Must Not Be Named made when they… never mind. Doesn’t matter. I gotta play mechanic. You need to go back to the Vegan Princess and Han Solo.”

Peter’s face is caught between a chuckle and a scowl, which is hilarious. 

“JARVIS, send a text to the baby agents from Peter’s number, tell them he’s coming back –”

“What, no! I’m not, I’m not going back! Didn’t you hear that, that noise?”

“I did, which is exactly why you need to leave. If this blows –”

“You’re not gonna be able to contain the reaction on your own, you need help –”

“I need you _safe_!” Tony shouts, his voice bouncing off the walls of the empty hallway. 

He regrets it immediately when Peter flinches back a step. 

“Besides,” he adds, softer, “I’m totally violating my probation right now.”

The kid’s eyes light up again so fast that Tony fears he’ll get emotional whiplash before the day is over. 

“Um, well, yeah, but, uh… It’s okay. Or, not _okay_ okay, but…”

“Okay? What do you mean, okay?” 

And now Peter’s grinning. “I’m suing the DA.” 

That information takes Tony a moment to process. “Wha… What?! I mean, _how_?”

“Well, not suing in the litera– I mean, it’s a motion, I’m filing a motion to dismiss the Order of Protection cause I’m seventeen now and it’s only there cause I wasn’t above the age of consent –” 

_Christ_ , how Tony has missed Peter’s stammering. 

“– but now I am and this lawyer said he’s the best so now I’m fili– well, technically he is filing a motion, but, uh, on my behalf cause I’m making him prove it. That he’s the best, I mean.”

“By voiding the Order of Protection.” Tony blinks. That’s actually… yeah, that could actually work. 

Peter’s smile is optimistic as he nods and Tony wants to taste it so, so badly.

“And, uh, the, the judge will set a hearing date on Monday… Yeah, sorry, but Mr. Kassell said – he’s the lawyer, by the way – that a hearing’s inevitable with such a high-profile case. Just, um, act surprised when they tell you?” 

“Ha, I will.”

Tony feels his smile grow wider. It’s impossible not to be grinning like a mad man right now and Peter’s grinning back. Tony’s feet start moving of their own accord because why the hell are they still standing so far apart when they could ¬–

 _WHRUM._

Tony curses. “That’s the sound of the fusion getting out of control, what the hell were these _idiots_ thinking!”

“We need to stop it.”

“You’re not coming, kid.”

Peter’s hands clench into fists and for a delusional moment Tony thinks he’s going to actually listen.

“I can distract them,” he says in that stubborn tone of his that Tony used to really like. “They’re gonna notice you if you just go in by yourself; Toomes and, and that guy, that Mason guy. I can distract them while you shut off the reactor –”

“I’ll need to fix it first, kid.”

“Well, how much time do you need?” 

Tony groans since Peter is actually making sense. Of course he is, he’s smart and awesome and, well, capable of making his own decisions. _Damn it._

“Twenty minutes.”

“Yes!” the kid cheers, and does a little victory gesture that’s just so Peter that it hurts. 

Tony is going to combust on the spot if he doesn’t kiss him right this second but then Peter’s asking “Where are they?” and oh, right, they need a plan, or a vague idea of how to swing this, so _no, nope_ , not the time for making out.

Tony doesn’t lead them back to where he came from cause he spotted Mason bent over a bundle of cables but couldn’t find Toomes anywhere. 

“Maybe Mr. JARVIS can trace him? Ned’s tracking him from the _Hybrid Puppy_ , which is hooked to your network ¬–”

“Right – okay, get on it, buddy.”

“Yes, sir,” is JARVIS’s immediate reply. 

The silence that follows is tense, yet not really awkward. Tony wants to say something but he’s got no idea what. Everything that comes to mind would distract them too much from the task at hand and Tony really shouldn’t waste time for his own selfish reasons when lives are at stake. 

Wow. If his younger self could see him now. 

“Mr. Toomes is currently in what appears to be an office,” JARVIS informs them, throwing up a hologram via the tablet’s outputs that gives them a sense of direction. 

“There’s a staircase,” Peter points down the corridor. The sun is getting low so it’s hard to make out the door in the dim light. “I’ll go up, pretend I don’t know he’s up there and when he sees me he’ll call Mason up – or, you know, I hope so – and then you can fix the reactor.”

“That’s a horrible plan – at least take my phone,” Tony says, handing it over. “JARVIS can record ’em when they inevitably start gloating about how brilliant their evil plan is.” 

The corners of Peter’s mouth twitch. “Unless they’ve read that list about what not to do if you’re a super-villain.”

“I’d hardly call that son of a bitch a super-villain.” Tony heaves a sigh. “And I can still think of seventy things that could go wrong with that plan.”

“Do you have a better one?” Peter shoots back immediately with an eye-roll, and yes, this is the banter Tony’s life has been missing. 

He can’t help it – he grins again. Peter takes a moment to catch on, though when he does, his eyes soften as well. 

And flicker to Tony’s lips. 

Alright, that’s it, that’s the last straw. 

Both of them move at the same time and sure, their arms knock into each other and Peter’s so eager he misses Tony’s mouth in the first second but then there are lips on his and everything stops for the duration of the kiss. 

Tony has forgotten how good this feels, how Peter’s eagerness always wins out at first before he manages to sink deeper into the moment, and this time is no exception. Tony brings a hand up to Peter’s jaw, though whether it’s to help center the kid or himself he couldn’t say. Possibly both, since they’re both gasping like drowning men after finally breaking through to the surface.

It’s all over way too soon. 

Peter is the responsible one who steps back, motioning towards the staircase. “I’ll just, uh…”

“Yeah.” 

Tony watches Peter hurry down the hallway. His hand is on the door handle when…

“Ey, kid.”

Peter pauses. Looks back. 

“Take care.”

Another smile. Then he’s gone. 

*

The arc reactor sits in the middle of a clear area, magnetic coils alternating with glass walls that provide a glimpse at the plasma inside. 

Peter wonders what the architect of the mall would say; they probably intended the space to be used for exhibitions and events. 

With the sunlight receding, the reactor’s blue glow has become more noticeable. Surely someone outside will – oh, no, no one’s going to notice cause all windows on the ground level have been sealed shut with cardboard and the contraption is only about eight or nine feet high. 

High enough to hide Tony, in case Peter can’t buy him those twenty minutes. 

He spots the office to his left: it looks like Toomes has repurposed a room intended to be used as a commercial space by blacking out the glass walls. Only one half of the sliding doors is stuck in their open position so Peter doesn’t even need to feign the curiosity that’s drawing him closer. 

Toomes is walking up and down in front of a makeshift desk, talking on the phone. Peter sees him when he peaks into the room but instead of reeling back, he steps forward and pretends to gape in a way that conveys both shock and reproach. 

Toomes spots him a heartbeat later and stops in his tracks, eyes widening. 

“Hey Gumdrop, I’ll have to call you back, okay?” Toomes says, then lowers the phone and ends the call without even glancing at the screen. “Hello, Peter.”

“What are you –? That’s the – I don’t understand!” 

“Why’d you follow me?”

Peter swallows. Shouldn’t Toomes be panicking? Shouting for his accomplice? Or at least flounder a bit… not be so eerily calm. Peter gets the feeling he might be a bit out of his depth here. 

“I-I found the blueprints,” he says. “But I never... How’d you even – you’re a _baker_.”

“I’m a citizen.” 

Still way too nonchalant, Toomes pockets his phone and takes a radio off his belt instead. Peter tries his best to look first clueless, then confused when the man tells Mason to “get your ass up here, we got a situation”. 

His eyes dart towards the digital clock that Toomes must have added to the room and begins his mental countdown. 

“Who, uh, who’s Mason? What’re you planning? How’d you even manage to build – I mean, it’s expensive and complicated and, and, and you’re a _baker_ ,” he repeats while Toomes rounds the desk with an amused half-smile playing about his lips. 

Toomes reaches for the top drawer and pulls it open. The stacks of paper on the desk are too high for Peter to make out what he’s looking for but the arrival of Mason takes his attention off the other man. 

Mason is short and on the rounder side with a rat-like face that’s currently twisted into annoyance, even before he spots Peter. 

“Aw, no.”

“You have to shut down the reactor!” Peter tries, cause maybe Tony is right and they aren’t super-villains. Maybe they’ll listen to reason. “Please, the calculations are off, it’s going to get out of con–”

“The calculations are perfectly fine,” Mason says, shooting Toomes a look that reads, ‘What’s that boy’s deal?’ “Trust me, I used to be an engineer at Stark Industries.”

“Then you should know that the specs for the inner torus were adjusted to allow for larger energy output with the new element because palladium’s beta decay – ”

“Who says we’re not using the new element?” Mason challenges, but there is a moment of doubt in his eyes. 

Peter’s about to point out that only Tony handles the production of any new core so for Mason and Toomes to get their hands on one they would have needed to either gain access to the workshop or the penthouse safe, and Peter’s sure they got neither. 

Yet Toomes seems to have had enough of science babble if his annoyed huff is any indication and he raises a hand to – no, not just a hand. 

A gun. 

_That’s what must have been in the desk drawer_ , is Peter’s first, dull thought, quickly followed by, _He’s pointing a gun at me._

At least this time, there are none of his loved ones in the immediate vicinity. 

“So there _is_ a mute button,” Toomes says with the hint of a smile. 

Mason shifts uneasily. “What now, boss?”

“Now we’re gonna tie Parker to this chair, you’re gonna finish fixing the conductor cables or else this entire thing will have been in vain, and I’ll call my daughter back.”

“Conductor cables?!” Peter echoes. “You’re – oh god, you’re going to feed the power into the grid.”

Toomes scowls, though mostly because of the him talking again part, Peter thinks, which doesn’t stop him. Even if what they’re saying made any sense, he still has to buy fifteen more minutes.

“Why a-are you – I thought you were going to sell the arc reactor.”

“ _SELL?!_ ” 

Mason mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, ‘Here we go again.’

“Sell, Parker?! Don’t jam me into the same box as your sugar daddy, son. I’d never exploit my city like that. Nah, we’re going to give them free electricity. We’re gonna tear down the corrupt fuckers who’ve got us in their death grips, one district at a time.”

Which means they’re actually about to connect a flawed arc reactor to the city’s power grid. Peter shudders. It’s a great idea, in theory, and Peter hates how similar Toomes’s line of reasoning is to his own in several arguments he’s had with Tony… but given the construction errors in the reactor in question, connecting it to the grid could have catastrophic repercussions. 

If they’re very lucky, syphoning off some of the build-up will keep the self-sustaining fusion inside from getting out of control. Sure, such a strong current’s going to overload and fry the power lines, but it’s better than the alternative – an explosive reaction. 

Peter would need clear readings as well as pen and paper to calculate the exact scope of it, but should Tony fail to fix it even the best case scenario would leave thousands of Brooklyn residents without power for days. 

“You’re making a mistake!” he shouts, panic spreading through his body. He explains the problem as quickly as he can as comprehensibly as he can cause Toomes clearly has no idea what the hell he’s done and Mason won’t listen. “You’ve got to believe me, Mr. Toomes,” he pleads, “you’re about to hurt a whole lot of people by trying to help them, can’t you just –”

Toomes disengages the safety on the gun. Peter’s jaw clicks shut.

“Oh, please, do go on,” Toomes sneers. “I love it when high school students try to lecture adults. Mason, go on, I’ll deal with him.”

“You, uh, you’re not gonna kill him, boss, are you?”

Toomes answers with a look that equals ‘What do you take me for?’, though that might be wishful thinking on Peter’s part. 

Mason exits without another word. 

“Pull out the chair,” Toomes orders. “Slowly. Now reach into the top drawer. Take out the handcuffs. Sit down.”

The next step probably would have involved Peter tying himself to the chair with police-issue cuffs but shouting noises from outside derail that plan of action. 

Toomes radios Mason but there’s no reply. So Tony got to him? Knocked him out? 

“Change of plans, Parker. Get up.” 

Which is how Peter ends up being led down another staircase closer to the makeshift office with a gun pressed against his shoulder blades. For a second he spots movement in one of the corridors leading to where the arc reactor is gradually getting more and more unstable, but Toomes pushes him forward before he has a chance to check.

They find Mason out cold a few meters away from the conductor cables which thankfully still aren’t connected to the transformer. 

“Show yourself!” Toomes calls. 

“Ya know, I wouldn’t have pegged an abandoned shopping mall as your first choice for an evil lair,” Tony’s voice drawls, footsteps from around the reactor’s arch heralding his arrival. 

Peter almost laughs cause it’s so like Tony to think up a cute one liner to go with revealing himself, but the danger of the situation is a bit too real for that.

“You really strike me as more of a…” 

They never find out what cause that’s the moment Tony notices that Toomes is holding Peter at gunpoint and stops abruptly. His eyes darken with anger yet stay on him. 

“Peter, please tell me that son of a bitch isn’t actually pointing a gun at you.”

“Uh, he sort of is? Sorry?” 

“Shut up.” Toomes underscores his demand by raising the gun from Peter’s shoulder to the back of his head. Peter could have gone his entire life without knowing what that feels like. “Both of you.”

Tony does. His eyes have widened and even years of practice can’t hide how scared he is. Peter desperately wants to soothe him but he’s not a skilled fighter, he can’t disarm a man twice his size. 

“Look at that, the great Tony Stark scared shitless,” Toomes sneers. “It’s pathetic how easy it was to tear you down. I don’t even mean the stock prices or your company’s reputation, nah. I mean you. Who’d have guessed that Peter Parker here would be your kryptonite? And you had no idea, son, did ya? Even helped me decorate the fucking cake.”

... what?

Peter makes to whirl around but a hand on his arm yanks him back before he can get a look at Toomes. 

“ _You_ shot the video?”

“Couldn’t believe my luck. Juiciest thing I ever scraped off of Stark’s floor.”

“What’re you –“

“He’s the fucking mole,” Tony says, his voice cold as ice. “And we’ve been looking on the inside... You paid off that poor schmuck, didn’t you? To take the fall for you?”

“You bet I did. Corporate espionage is quite lucrative.”

“Then you coulda splurged on some better tech cause this,” Tony points towards the reactor that’s been making worrisome hissing noises, “this is a piece of crap. If you’re gonna steal my specs and copy my tech, at least do it right.”

That shuts Toomes up for a few seconds. Then he explodes, “What the hell were you doing to the reactor, Stark?”

“Trying to salvage it!”

“I told him,” Peter says, “I told him it’s going to fry the grid – they want to connect it to the city’s grid, Tony, they’re gonna –“

“Yeah, I figured that. Don’t worry, Mason’s not –“

A loud _CLICK_ cuts him off. It originated from where Mason is ... _was_ lying. Because he’s since regained consciousness and is in the process of plugging in the conductor cable. 

“Stop!” Tony shouts but Mason ignores him. 

Several things happen at once: Mason secures the cable and immediately, the built-up electricity discharges with a deafening noise while the force of the pulse knocks them all down. 

There’s a sudden weight on top of Peter – for a split second he fears a piece of metal has come loose and fallen on him, but the mass covering him is too soft and too familiar. 

It’s Tony. 

Under any other circumstances, Peter would relish the sensation.

“Jesus, kid, are you okay?”

“Uh, I...” is as far as he gets before Tony pulls off completely and leaps to his feet. 

Peter turns with the movement and spots Toomes reaching for the gun he dropped as the pulse toppled him. Tony’s well-aimed kick is quicker, though, and sends the weapon sailing across the floor. 

That’s when Peter notices, “You’re bleeding!”

Tony glances down at his arm. A large gash has ripped into the short sleeve of his T-shirt and blood is trickling down to his elbow. There are other, dried smears already below it; the fall must have reopened the wound he apparently got in his scuffle with Mason.

“It’s nothing.”

A few feet away, Mason staggers to his feet while Toomes is still glaring at Tony.

“Uh, maybe... maybe you should keep the gun?” Peter suggests, also rising. It’s a challenge cause his knees are all wobbly and stuff. 

“Shit, yeah,” Tony says already moving. Once he’s picked up the weapon, he points it at Mason. “Disconnect the reactor. Now.” 

There’s enough authority in his voice to compel the man into obeying immediately, which has Toomes snort derisively. 

“Come on, he’s never gonna shoot us. He’s a coward hiding in an ivory tower. He wouldn’t make it two seconds in our world.”

“Would you bet your knee joint on that?” 

Peter has never heard Tony sound this cold and threatening. If he were Toomes, he’d do a lot more than roll his eyes. 

Mason disconnects the cables and starts raising his hands again when another _WHRUM_ from the reactor makes him flinch. Tony, meanwhile, seems to have the same thought as Peter – it’s escalating. 

“I thought you fixed the thing, Stark,” Toomes says. 

“I was _trying_ to fix it before Evil Sidekick here got all up in my face.”

“But I double-checked the calculations –”

“You did that back when you were still working for me and I still had to kick you to the curb,” Tony snarls, yanking something off his utility belt and throwing it to Peter. “Tie their hands together. And their feet.”

Peter blinks down at the zip ties he’s clutching. 

“Kid, come on, we’re kind of on a clock here.”

Peter hurries over to Toomes and Mason and secures both of them to the best of his abilities, which Toomes endures with much scowling. 

“Okay, now pass me the tablet – yeah, that one. You still got my phone? Pull up the contacts and dial the number for ‘A.C.’.”

While Peter does that, Tony pulls up the energy readings on the arc reactor – which aren’t good, as far as he can see from the corner of his eye. 

“Swap ya.”

Peter accepts the tablet while Tony hits the call button. The gun has found a place at his hip in a pocket of the utility belt. He walks over to the reactor, Peter close behind, checks something, then hands Peter a wrench. 

That’s when whoever he’s contacting answers the call. 

“Yes, I do in fact know how late it is, Agent Coulson,” Tony says, startling Peter as well as their, uh, prisoners. “No, I actually have something for you: several acts of corporate espionage and an ongoing act of domestic terrorism.”

Both Toomes and Mason go white as sheets. 

“Figured you’d be interested in that,” Tony says. “I’m sending you the coordinates. Could you forward them to someone at the NYPD cause I’d hate for the perps to get away cause you’re already in your PJs and ain’t gonna arrive before the party’s already –”

 _WHRUM._

“Was that –” 

“The sound of an impending explosion?” Tony says. “Yup.” And into the phone, “Sorry, dear, gotta go.” 

He ends the call but Peter knows how JARVIS works well enough to assume the AI inferred his new task and is compiling a message to Agent Coulson that will include both their location and more specifics. 

Which leaves them with little time. Peter seeks Tony’s eye. “How do we stop it?”

“You can’t,” Mason calls out from the floor. “It’s a self-sustaining ring, it’ll just –”

“Not with that attitude, we won’t,” Tony snaps. “On the newer models there’s a lever just in case some _utter moron_ decides to tamper with it but of course you didn’t consider that, did ya, _pal_.”

Peter thinks back to the last schematics he remembers yet there’s no lever either, meaning Tony must have added it only in the past few months. 

“What’s it –”

“It sheds the magnetic coils and throttles the ionization of the element, slows down the circulation and so also –”

“– the decay,” Peter continues as understanding dawns on him. “And then there’ll be no electron capture and no energy!” 

Tony grins at him. “You are so hot right now,” he says.

Before Peter can so much as laugh or blush, Tony’s already pushing him towards one end of the reactor’s ring. Toomes makes some derogatory comment that Peter ignores in favor of searching the area for something to climb on cause he’s not tall enough on his own. 

Tony finds two folded-up step ladders and hands one over to him before dashing off to the other side of the torus ring. They can’t simply take off the magnetic coils in any random succession since the atoms inside are still traveling at high velocity and colliding with the outer wall _really_ wouldn’t be helping with the whole preventing-the-explosion part of the plan. 

“This one’s got different nuts,” Peter calls when he reaches the third. 

There are six screws and nuts per coil that fasten it to the torus and only once all of them are loose can Tony and he simultaneously remove the magnets. So far it’s all been uniform elements but now even Peter sees why Tony’s been complaining about Mason’s craftsmanship. 

He sprints to Tony who passes him the wrench he asked for but doesn’t let go, catching Peter’s gaze. 

How can Tony be so calm when failure on their part would mean that people will die? They’re running out of time and the reactor’s not slowing down fast enough for them to prevent the explosion, why’re they even trying, they should be getting the hell out of the –

“Pretend like we’re in the workshop, kid,” Tony murmurs. “Just us, working together, no risk involved. Dummy’s even on stand-by with a smoothie.”

“Stop making moon-eyes at each other and fix that damn thing!” Toomes bellows from behind Tony but to Peter he sounds far away. 

Not breaking eye contract, he takes a deep breath. Exhales. Relaxes his shoulders. 

Tony sends him off with a wink and they’re back on. 

*

It’s a close call. 

It’s the closest call possible, but in the end they yank off another set of coils right before the fusion would release too much energy for the reactor to contain and the reaction grinds to a halt. 

Well, not grinding so much as, uh… slowing to a trickle that couldn’t power a light bulb for more than a few seconds. Probably. Possibly. Peter could check if had pen and paper… or cared, right now. 

He slumps against the place where the coil used to be and stares at the plasma through the glass. 

They did it. 

“Well, that was fun,” Tony quips as he appears next to Peter, where he can keep an eye on Toomes and Mason. Or he could, that is, if Tony were looking at them. He only has eyes for Peter right now. “Let’s never do it again.”

Peter manages a breathless chuckle. He accepts Tony’s hand and hops down from the step ladder only to lose his balance. He would have stumbled and fallen but Tony is steadying him, mirth in his eyes at Peter’s clumsiness. 

There’s no reason not to push to his toes and steal a kiss, so Peter does just that. Like earlier in the corridor, it feels like a piece of himself slots back into place as Tony’s lips cover his own. 

In that moment, everything is perfect. The rest of the world fades away with every brush of Tony’s stubble against his skin, every hint of teeth scraping his lip. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Until MJ arrives and Peter blinks his eyes open again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that... not-a-cliffhanger? *mock-gasps* Hope you enjoyed reading their reunion as much as I did writing it <3
> 
> PS: Since for some reason, a few of you read the last sentence as hinting at a dream... uh, no? Peter closes his eyes while kissing Tony (as one would) and opens them when he hears MJ. Simple as that.


	27. twenty-seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad I can share this chapter with you =) For one, it seems that updating will be the only productive thing I'll manage today... and for another, I'm really happy with how it turned out. Also, nervous... but that's a given xD 
> 
> I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE FALLOUT ♡

“I expected more from you, Parker. This is such a cliché.”

Tony lets his head fall on Peter’s shoulder with a sigh. The Vegan Princess is regarding them in frustrated disdain and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to deal with this right now. 

“Uh, hi, MJ. What’re you – what’re you doing here?”

The girl huffs. “You fall off the radar and someone sends us a text from your phone – your _dead_ phone, I might add – what was I supposed to do? Wait until global warming flooded the mall and washed out your corpse in the process?”

“Um…”

“Ned’s on his way, too.”

Tony groans into Peter’s shoulder, which turns out to be the wrong thing to do. 

“Stop hiding behind a teenager, Mr. Stark,” MJ says. “We gotta clean up this mess.”

It’s uncanny how much that chick reminds him of Pepper back in their early days. 

Tony reluctantly untangles himself from Peter and gives MJ a flat look. “That’s what the FBI is for. Cops, too, cause the Feds gotta change out of their nighties before they can get their asses here.”

“Good. Then someone better go outside to guide them here. Wouldn’t want the perpetrators to escape because the people with the real handcuffs can’t find the entrance,” she adds pointedly.

“Did that sound like an order to you?” Tony asks Peter, keeping one hand on the kid’s hip. “Cause to me that definitely did.” 

Tony catches MJ’s eye roll in the background and Toomes grumbles something into his non-existent beard. He can’t enjoy having Peter close to him for too long, however, since MJ has a point and besides, Tony needs to talk to JARVIS and there’s no way in hell he’ll do that in front of the guys who turned spying on him into a business model. 

“Can I trust her not to set them loose?” Tony wonders, only half teasing. 

MJ responds by giving him the finger, which Tony takes as a ‘yes, and now fuck off so I can quiz my friend and curse your name’, so he leaves them to it. 

“JARVIS, status on the grid.”

“Presently, an estimated 957,300 Brooklyn residents are without power due to the incident. The Department of Damage Control is dispatching experts to remedy the situation as quickly as possible.”

“Yeah, and when’s that gonna be?”

“Forty-eight to fifty-three-point-five hours, based on my current data.”

Tony’s steps along the hallway don’t falter yet he does let out a heartfelt sigh. “How much faster if I’m there to help?”

“That reduces the timeframe to twenty-four to thirty-six hours from when you commence assisting the experts.”

Yeah, not how he planned to spend his weekend. Ugh. 

Okay, so far his plans included briefing Ainsley on the whole inadvertently-breaking-his-probation situation and replaying his moments with Peter over and over in his mind. Well, technically he’s still violating his probation… though it’s getting harder to remember why he should minimize the possible repercussions. Or why he can’t just snatch Peter, grab one of his private jets, and go to somewhere nice. Has the kid ever been on a beach that’s not Coney Island? 

A noise pulls Tony out of his daydreaming – was that another set of footsteps? 

Yeah, and that shadow’s moving suspiciously much like a person… 

“I know you’re there, buddy,” Tony calls out, sounding braver than he feels. He blames his quick pulse on the blood loss. At least the wound on his arm has clotted by now. “I still have a gun, by the way.”

“Don’t shoot me, Mr. Stark!” 

“… _Minion_?”

Yup, the person who steps out of hiding is none other than Eugene Thompson, wide-eyed and clutching his phone. 

“I was just doing research, sir, on Parker, and he was acting strange, even stranger than usual. And then Leeds and Williams showed up and it got stranger –”

“So you followed them,” Tony infers, his mind connecting the dots as anger flares in his chest. “And instead of, oh, I don’t know, putting your phone down and helping, you _recorded_ us?”

The implied criticism apparently goes right over the boy’s head in his current state. “Yes, I got it all on tape, or, well, from when that baker came down the stairs with Parker.”

Tony blinks. That’s… that’s pretty convenient, actually. 

“I think this is really going to take the article to the next level, sir – my interview’s in the morning and now I have concrete material from an event that’ll make headlines tomorrow and is still going to be on everybody’s mind by Sunday, so I believe it’s very likely I will win us the front page.” Eugene stops because he’s running out of breath, though apparently not out of things to say. “It’s brilliant, if you don’t mind me saying. You saving the day with Parker helping and it all culminating in a kiss? I couldn’t have staged that better myself.”

“You filmed the kiss, too?” 

“Of course I –”

“Cut it.”

“What? That’s the money shot of the whole –”

“I don’t care. Edit. It. Out,” Tony says in the tone he uses with the clowns from R&D when he’s done being patient with their shenanigans they consider product development. “We’ve had enough people watching us make out on the internet.”

“Oh, o-okay.” 

Well, at least the boy has some sense of self-preservation. 

“And make the footage available to the FBI as well. For their investigation. There’ll be an email with contact info in your inbox when you get home.”

Eugene nods. He’s still gripping his phone tightly and his usually so cocky expression is one of, well… shock, Tony would almost say. Though if he really witnessed the entire thing, that’s no surprise. All things considered, he’s holding it together rather well, Tony has to admit, albeit grudgingly. 

“A-anything else, Mr. Stark?”

“Go home, minion.”

The boy’s slinking off into the night is facilitated by the lack of police cars in the side street of the entrance to the property, which unfortunately also means Tony has to walk up to the main road to play Fetch the Nice Officers. 

There are three cruisers already, and damn, just Tony’s luck. 

“Should I be worried you’re stalking me?” he asks Officers Barnes-Rogers and their newly-assigned partners. Something about anti-fraternization regulations, JARVIS said. 

“The world doesn’t revolve around you,” Rogers huffs after the initial moment of surprise has passed. “What the hell happened?”

“What, why is this my job? Didn’t the Feds fill you in?”

Apparently not. At least that staves off any awkward silences on the way back to the crime scene. 

“What the fuck!” Bucky shouts when he spots Peter. 

Yeah, maybe Tony should have mentioned that. 

Steve immediately fixes Tony with a suspicion glare. “How long’s this been going on?”

“It hasn’t!” Peter cuts in before Tony can do so much as open his mouth. “I was tracking Toomes and Tony was tracking Mason and we just…” He flaps his hands in a gesture that Tony doubts will communicate ‘teamed up and saved the city’. 

“Don’t mind Peter, he was doing some friendly neighborhood avenging, that’s your thing, too, isn’t it, Officers? Look over here, didn’t we tie them up beautifully?”

“This shit’s cutting off my circulation,” Toomes snaps, then turns to the cops. “This is unlawful restraint, Rogers, you gotta get me outta here, ya hear me?” 

Yet Rogers is already shaking his head. “We’re just the guard dogs.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “domestic terrorism’s a bit beyond our pay grade, ain’t it?”

They keep bantering about what the legal system has in store for them until even Toomes’s mask of indignation is starting to show the cracks, which is a pretty rewarding sight. Tony might have mentioned on the way here that the baker’s the son of a bitch who filmed them at the wedding; Messrs. Barnes-Rogers were not amused. 

Judging by the smile tugging at Peter’s lips, the kid’s enjoying Toomes’s squirming, too. Tony throws him a wink. They’re drifting closer, drawn to one another like magnets with opposed polarities. Neither of them dares to reach out, however – the FBI is gonna show up any minute. 

When they come, everything explodes into a flurry of organized chaos. The presence of that Ned kid isn’t helping. 

“Duuuude! Dude, I can’t believe you saved the city! That’s so badass!” 

Tony gives Coulson a long-suffering look. “You couldn’t have left him outside?”

“What, when he arrived in one of your own driverless cars, telling us how he had been vital to the success of the mission?”

“Of course he did,” Tony says with a sigh. 

“I believe a statement from you would shed some light on all of this.”

Tony provides the briefest account of events he’s capable of, careful to stress that Peter and he had no contact whatsoever but that they weren’t going to let some petty Order of Protection stop them from saving thousands of people who’d have died in a horrible explosion. 

“… or maybe hundreds of thousands, no real way of knowing without doing some calculations,” Tony adds, “but based on the size of the reactor alone –”

Coulson holds up a hand. His expression’s still bland but Tony has become familiar enough with the agent to see the amused twinkle in his eyes. 

“No need to go on, Mr. Stark. In fact, and in a peculiar turn of events, I’m in agreement with your assessment for the first and as I expect only time in my career. Now get that arm looked at. You’re not the only one whose statement matters.”

“Blasphemy!” Tony teases, yet grudgingly decides to behave and do as he’s told. 

*

“Can you give us a lift, Mr. Stark?” Ned asks as soon as he’s done with his statement. “The car’s still waiting and there’s four seats but we’re only three – well, four if you count yourself, and why wouldn’t you count yourself? Oh, but I’m not saying you can’t count, sir, because –”

“Just get in the car,” Tony interrupts or else the boy would have kept going and it’s starting to get on his nerves. He rubs at the bandage one of the Feds slapped on his wound, wondering if this warrants waking Bruce in the middle of the night. 

He has JARVIS plot a route that would make Peter the last one to be dropped off at home and the sooner they get to that stage of his plan, the better. When he sent the sports car for Ned, Tony didn’t anticipate the kid’s sidekicks were gonna filch a ride home as well. 

“Oh, shotgun!” 

Tony closes his eyes for a second. Wonderful. Considering he’s the only person with a license, he’s the only one legally allowed in the driver’s seat even though the Audi A5 Cabriolet is perfectly capable of driving on its own. So now he’s gonna have to spend the thirty-minute drive with Han Solo on speed next to him.

At least Peter chooses the back seat where Tony can throw him furtive glances every now and then. 

“Mr. Stark,” MJ says once they’ve emerged from behind the police barrier and pulled onto the I-278 E. “Would you say blue-collar crime escalating into homegrown terrorism is a symptom of our times?”

Peter isn’t the only one who gives her a confused look, but Tony recognizes that tone. He’s been subjected to too many journalists trying to sneak interviews in his day to fall for that, even though this one’s wearing a lot more clothes than they usually do. 

“I’d say greed has always been a powerful motivator, and turning this into a working class hero sob story ain’t gonna do anyone any favors.”

“That’s hardly what I was –”

Tony interrupts her with a humorless laugh. “Yeah, yeah, you totally weren’t gonna segue to the struggles of the ninety-eight percent and argue for a welfare state to reduce inequalities and turn this nation into a land of rainbows and unicorns. You absolutely weren’t.”

In the backseat, MJ crosses her arms and scowls. Peter’s biting his lips to keep himself from grinning and Ned seems at a loss why anyone would ask about politics when they’re in Tony Stark’s personal cabriolet. 

At least Ned’s questions don’t come with the risk of being quoted out of context. 

Also, Peter seems to really appreciate Tony taking the time to talk to his best friend, which Tony counts as a win even though the Vegan Princess is already typing something on her phone. 

She looks up as they’re passing through Sunnyside and immediately narrows her eyes at Tony via the rearview mirror. He sneers at her, arching an eyebrow daring her to call out what he’s doing, but miracles of miracles… she doesn’t. 

Tony feels his brow furrow. What the hell did Peter tell her while he was gone back at the mall? He’d have expected at least a pointed jibe or two that he’s intentionally trying to get Peter alone in a sports car. 

Not that he can enjoy that, mind you. He can’t even open up the car’s roof cause JARVIS has better things to do than purge traffic camera footage – or that of night owls on the streets with camera phones – of him in close proximity of Peter. 

Well, he’ll dazzle the kid with his cars another time, then… After the hearing. 

If the judge voids the Order. 

MJ bumps Peter in the shoulder with the knuckles of her fist before she slides out of the car, calling out a “Bye, Stark” that Tony has no idea what to do with. 

Ned keeps babbling until they reach the bottom of his apartment building and it takes an exasperated “Dude,” from Peter to get him to shut up and freaking leave already. Tony waits until the boy’s out of sight before relinquishing control to the limited AI in the car, getting out of the driver’s seat and joining Peter in the back, who regards him like he’s a genius for thinking of this. 

Tony clears his throat. “You okay?”

“Huh? Oh, sure… yeah, I’m, uh, everything’s good.”

Tony barely deigns to raise an eyebrow. 

“I mean,” Peter continues. “It’s all a bit… a bit much to take in, I guess.”

“Give yourself time. Even a smart kid like you can’t process what happened tonight in a few hours.”

Peter nods, dropping his gaze. The car rolls through the low traffic of nightly Queens, closing in on their final stop with every second that trickles by. 

Tony should say something. If only he knew where to begin. 

“I missed you,” Peter whispers. He’s not looking at him but the tone of his voice speaks more than three words ever could. 

Tony releases the breath he was holding. Swallows. There’s a lump in his throat. 

“I missed you, too, kid.”

Peter lifts his eyes, expression vulnerable and open and a bit surprised. It’s like he didn’t expect Tony to say it back, which is ridiculous, seriously. He spots Peter’s hand on the seat between them and gently slips his own on top of it. 

A beat. Then Peter’s smiling and turning his palm upwards. Their fingers intertwine a second later, as if moving on their own accord. 

There’s a moment there, stretching between them. Tony can feel the warmth of it everywhere, pushing words to the tip of his tongue yet he holds them back. If Peter feels even a mere fraction of what Tony does… he knows. No need to cheapen it with clichés. 

The car rolls to a stop. 

“Uh, well, this is… this is me.”

“Duh.” Tony grins, but it’s rueful. Peter’s going to leave and then that’ll be it until the hearing, whenever that will be. 

Peter swallows. “Or… Uh, do you want to…?”

“Kid…”

“No, I – I know, that’d be stupid. Forget I, uh, forget I asked,”

He sounds wrecked and Tony hates himself. He gives Peter’s hand a squeeze and follows it up with a slight tug. The solution is quite obvious, really, though Tony is loath to suggest anything outright. Anything that happens between them should be Peter’s to give, his decision. 

The kid catches on incredibly quickly despite how exhausted he must be. A _click_ and the seat belt is disengaged. Some swift maneuvering is all it takes for Peter to be kneeling on the leather between them, seeking silent permission. It’s a testament to how long it’s been that he even pauses to consider whether or not it’s okay to climb into Tony’s lap, but then he’s finally there, legs framing Tony’s hips and lips capturing his own. 

Peter places one hand on Tony’s shoulder (the uninjured one, _of-fucking-course_ ) to steady himself while the other spreads out against his chest, right over his heart and the edges of the arc reactor. 

Tony loses himself in the taste of him, the ever-present hint of coffee mixed with a sweetness that’s probably a product of his brain chemistry telling him how _awesome_ this is. There’s no reason for his heart to beat this fast, or for the warmth reaching every cell in his body but Tony doesn’t care. This is the good kind of manipulation. 

Almost without thinking, Tony buries a hand in Peter’s hair to deepen their kiss. Peter’s soft moan at the back of his throat comes unexpected but acts like the spark to light the fire at the base of Tony’s spine. 

He tugs, earning another delicious sound, needier this time, and before Tony has a chance to feel smug about still knowing what gets him going, Peter’s pushed closer. He’s a firm presence against his front, the hand on Tony’s shoulder slipping to the nape of his neck, the one from his chest cupping his jaw. 

Tony keeps his own in Peter’s hair while letting the other roam leisurely across the kid’s back… Any more intent and they might as well go upstairs and do this properly, seriously, why did Tony say no? They’ve already broken his probation today, what’s another couple of hours that no one’s gonna know about? Tony would be able to spread him out across the mattress and tear that _Hybrid Puppy_ tee off him. If he hasn’t come in his pants at that point already, Tony’s gonna make him. He’ll mouth at the kid’s erection through his boxer briefs, teasing and applying pressure in all the right places until all Peter can do is whimper and moan, until he’s a bundle of oversensitive nerve endings and pleasure, until – 

Until Tony has to grab a condom along with the lube. 

Fuck. 

“Wha– What’s wrong?” Peter asks, pulling back enough to seek Tony’s eyes which Tony can’t stomach right now. 

“Kid…” he starts. “Before this, uh, _escalates_ any further…”

“I want it to escalate, I do!” Peter shifts in his lap to underscore his point. “This isn’t cause I, uh, because of what happened. I’ve missed this and I want you and no one can see us, _please_ , Tony, it’s been too long.”

Ngh, how is he supposed to say no to that?

“Kid, you don’t have all the information to make that decision right now.”

Something about Tony’s tone or muted expression gives Peter pause and he tilts his head at him. “Course I do.” 

“Do you have a condom, too?”

Peter twitches back. “W-what? Why?”

“A condom.” Tony forces himself to maintain eye contact now, even if it hurts. “After we br– after the sentencing, I… I did some things.” He has to clear his throat before admitting, “Things with…other people. I wasn’t always safe. Hell, I wasn’t always sane, and if past experiences are anything to go by, I’m not exactly the poster boy for safe sex when I’m on seven glasses of champagne and five gin fizz – fizzes? Fizzes. So I hate to ask,” and isn’t _that_ the understatement of the century, “but do you have a condom?”

He expected the look of hurt on Peter’s faced, but it’s tinged with disappointment and that just makes it so much worse. 

“N-not at the moment,” Peter manages. “I… It’s… It’s not a big deal,” he says even though someone fast asleep could tell he’s lying. “You’ll just have to get tested again. I mean, it’s… I understand. You thought we’d never… or not until I’m eighteen, so… I, uh…”

Tony has no idea what to say. He wants to reach out and pull Peter close but he feels he sorta forfeited the right to do that by acting like a... Well, like the billionaire playboy everyone thinks him to be. Until Sunday. 

He’s been meaning to tell Peter about it, about the potential front page. He’d been going back and forth whether or not to have JARVIS reach out with a surreptitious warning and never had the balls to do it. 

Maybe now’s the time. Tony doesn’t want to part ways like this, not again. 

That’s when the car door opens and everything goes to hell. 

Because there, standing on the the sidewalk and peering into the back of the car… is May Parker. 

“What the fuck?”

A furious May Parker. 

Peter is off Tony’s lap immediately. “A-aunt May, what’re you – Your vacation –”

“Screw my vacation, when I hear about an almost-explosion in New York, you think I’m not gonna get on the next train back?”

“You shouldn’t have, look, I’m fine –”

“And I’m not doing this down here,” she snaps, which Tony finds very sensible. “Upstairs. Now.”

Peter looks at Tony, hurt still etched in every line of his features, opening his mouth in what will presumably be goodbye until their hearing but –

“You, too, Mister. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Tony gulps. _Oh, shit._

*

The flat is tiny. 

Well, by Tony’s standards, that is. For normal people it’s probably okay: a living room with kitchen island, one bedroom for each occupant, all the basic necessities, a video game console that looks new-ish. And still the kid blushes as Tony takes it all in. 

May has come to a stop in front of the sofa. She turns towards them, arms crossed, eyes on her nephew. 

“Explain yourself.”

The kid does a remarkable job stumbling his way through a version of events that somehow doesn’t include a gun to his head (Tony shudders at the mere thought), but his aunt isn’t stupid. Tony can see her calling bullshit in her head. 

“You’re grounded.”

“What?!”

“No Lego Death Stars –”

“But Ned just got the new Destroyer –”

“I don’t care. No afternoons with Ned, no hanging out at MJ’s. You go to work, you go home, that’s it.”

“For how long?” Peter pouts. It’s… sort of adorable. 

“For as long as I think it’s necessary, Peter. You have any idea how dangerous that was? I couldn’t stand losing you, too.”

“I’m fine –”

“You could have _died_!”

“Not on my watch.” 

Tony didn’t mean to say that out loud. He only realizes he did when the attention of two Parkers snaps to him. 

“Not on your watch, really?” May hisses. “I don’t think you have much ground to stand on when it comes to not hurting my kid, Mr. Stark.”

 _Touché._ Tony deserves the stab of pain that comes with it. He probably deserves much worse. 

“May,” Peter intervenes, for some unfathomable reason. “You’re being unfair –”

_Unfair?_

“Grounding starts now. Go to your room.”

“No!”

“Peter.”

“No, I’m not going. I’m seventeen –”

“And I’m still your guardian – 

“I don’t need protection!” Peter shouts. “Not from Tony. You just wanna accuse him and insult him and I’m not gonna let you do that.”

He stares at the kid in disbelief. After the confession Tony sprang on him just now, he’s still defending him to his aunt? 

“That man is breaking his probation. I have every right to call the cops right now.” 

“They already know, May,” Peter says. “They know and they didn’t arrest him cause it wasn’t planned, okay, we didn’t run into each other on purpose, weren’t you listening?”

“Oh, and you just fell into his lap and stayed there for God knows how long? You want me to believe that wasn’t on purpose either, mister?” 

That pulls Peter up short and his aunt uses the moment of silence to round on Tony, pointy finger and getting all up in his face, the whole nine yards. 

“You! Care to explain why you let a seventeen-year-old get involved? You’re supposed to be an adult, didn’t you realize how much danger you were putting him in?”

“Of course I did,” Tony begins, but that’s as far as May lets him get. 

“Then why did you let him help, for fuck’s sake, he’s a _child_ , he’s –”

“He’s the most mature kid I’ve ever met,” Tony interrupts, glaring right back. “And he can damn well make his own fucking decisions. I wouldn’t have been able to stop the explosion without him and you should be proud of him for risking his life for this city instead of getting your fucking panties in a twist about shit that didn’t happen.”

May is gaping at him, but Tony’s not done. 

“And Peter hasn’t been a child for ages, but you’re too damn good at denial to see that, aren’t you? You think you could leave a _child_ in charge of a fucking coffee shop for three weeks and find it still standing when you come back?”

“You have no right to talk to me like this, Stark, you’re a pedophile –”

“Oh, get a fucking dictionary,” Tony snarls. 

May ignores him, color rising in her cheeks. “I’m done letting you exploit him for your own depraved needs. He’s not another pretty young thing for you to play with and then just cast aside when you’re done, he’s a minor and –”

“Oh, like he’s a minor when he’s clocking in forty hours during a school week cause you can’t get the fuck out of bed?”

May reels back as if Tony had slapped her and he might as well have. It’s low, so low, but Tony’s been keeping his mouth shut about it for as long as he’s known Peter and he’s _had it_. 

“Tony,” Peter whispers, but it’s not a ‘stop’. Even if it were, Tony doubts he could now that the dam’s open. 

“Oh no, let’s all revel in the hypocrisy here, shall we? What is he now, Mrs. Parker, huh? A child who can’t freaking think for himself or a substitute manager for when you’re too depressed to deal with the world?”

“It’s fine,” Peter says, “I don’t mind, I like working at the shop.”

May smiles briefly at her nephew. All the fight has gone out of her. “I… I’m seeing a therapist. I’m getting better.”

“Not the issue,” Tony snubs. “Course you’re getting better, Scott’s a genius.”

May’s eyes widen. “You – you know him?”

“How the hell’d ya think you got off the waiting list so quickly?”

“I don’t…” May looks from Tony to Peter, who connects the dots and then stares at Tony, the lines around his eyes softening. 

“Thank you,” Peter says on an exhale. 

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

And Peter’s smiling again – it’s small and tentative but the hurt’s mostly gone and Tony feels like he can finally breathe again. 

“See?” Peter takes a step towards his aunt, raising a hand and reaching out but aborting the movement before he completes it. “He’s not… Tony’s not the villain here. And you aren’t either, no one’s… I mean…” He takes a deep breath. “You’re trying your best and, and that’s enough for me.” 

May doesn’t react immediately. One hand covering her mouth, the other wrapped around her body, she seems rather overwhelmed – and if he’s honest with himself, Tony can’t fault her for that. Having a virtual stranger meddle with something that has you at your most vulnerable… yeah, that’s not something you can just shrug off. 

“You really did that?” 

Tony nods. 

“Why?”

“You’re Peter’s family. Wasn’t a big deal, didn’t take much effort on my part; Scott owed me a favor, I called it in. Easy-peasy.” 

The kid seems to disagree; he has that look he used to get when he really, really wanted to kiss Tony but couldn’t for some reason. 

“If I’d known that this would earn me this many brownie points I’d have told you about it sooner, kid.”

May exhales audibly then, drawing both Tony and Peter’s attention. She’s still glaring at him but it’s not as lethal as it used to be, so Tony thinks he can relax a little. He should also leave soon – the grid won’t go back online on its own, after all. 

“Look,” he says, cause that’s what people do in these situations, isn’t it? “I didn’t expect this to happen either. But now that it has, I’ll do everything in my power to treat him right.” 

Tony’s eyes dart to Peter, hoping he’ll get the subtext. If Tony could take back every fling of the past months, he would. 

May looks dubious. “And you’ll be fine waiting?”

Tony blinks. Then he notices Peter’s slight flare of panic – doesn’t his aunt know about the motion? 

“Uh, May, um… There’s something I haven’t told you yet.”

Apparently not. 

May’s ensuing eye roll almost makes Tony laugh but he goes with an encouraging smile for Peter instead, who explains taking up one of the lawyers on their pro bono offer and filing a motion. 

By the time he’s done, May Parker’s arms are crossed again and she’s scowling. At least not at Tony, which is a definite improvement in his book. 

“And you conveniently waited until I’m on vacation before you did this, huh?”

“Well...” Peter flails and looks to Tony who raises his hands cause his aunt’s got a point. 

May heaves a sigh. “Let me make sure I understand this: there’s going to be a hearing and depending on that, they might simply lift the Order of Protection?” Peter nods. “And when it is – then what?”

The last bit was directed at Tony who doesn’t even need to think about his reply. 

“Then I’m gonna ask your nephew out on a date. Many, many dates,” he says with a grin before sobering a bit. “If he’ll still have me, of course. At the end of the day, it’s his decision. It’ll _always_ be his decision. And he can take all the time he needs to make it,” he adds, cause the kid was about to speak and nope, Tony’s not gonna let him rush into saying yes cause he wants to take a stand in front of his aunt. Not when there’s more... more _information_ to consider. 

The same thought apparently occurs to Peter, whose expression loses some of his initial enthusiasm. Tony tries not to let it show how much that affects him but given the intrigue in May’s eyes he’s not too sure how well he’s managing. 

“Alright,” Tony claps his hands together before the atmosphere has a change to veer into even tenser territory. “I’d love to stay but there’s almost nine hundred sixty thousand Brooklyn residents without electricity right now cause of some pesky little EMP, and someone’s gotta get on that at some point.”

“And that’s you?” May’s incredulity is chafing.

Tony spreads his arms rather than going, ‘Duh.’ “The Department of Damage Control’s already been dispatched but it’s gonna get done a hell of a lot faster if I’m there.”

“Can I do anything to help?” Peter offers, since _of course_ he does. 

Tony shakes his head, unable to keep the fond smile off his face even as he crosses the short distance towards the front door. “Thanks, but we got it covered. The poor schmucks should be back online in less than thirty hours.”

His hand is already reaching for the handle when May’s remark stops him mid-motion. 

“I haven’t given you my blessing yet.”

Tony turns, arching an eyebrow. The movement would be a lot more impressive if he weren’t dressed in ratty jeans and a band T-shirt that are both covered in lord-knows-what from the derelict shopping center… but it’ll have to do. 

“With all due respect, Mrs. Parker – we don’t need it.” 

He nods at her, then looks to Peter with a tentative smile. He’d like nothing more than to pull the kid close and kiss him goodbye, but even without his aunt there it doesn’t feel like he earned that right back yet. 

So he goes for a, “See you at the hearing,” and lets his eyes linger long enough to catch the corners of Peter’s lips curl before taking his leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... anyone else been ~~looking forward to~~ dreading Tony and May's first meeting? I have to admit, it was cathartic to write =)


	28. twenty-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clears-throat* So… when I said 31 chapters, we all knew that's more of a rough estimate, right? Might be less, might be more - it really all depends on how it plays out on the page. 
> 
> For the record: this chapter was the hardest one to write in recent memory, damn... To the point of spending a day wallowing in self-doubt. Million thanks to merlenhiver for getting me out of my funk and holding my hand through this! And to you all, dear readers, since your comments continue to be a source of inspiration and motivation!

They end up on the sofa, huddled together and drinking tea in silence. 

Peter’s glad cause his mind’s a mess, hurt and disappointment and affection and nerves all tumbling around his head with no idea which one to focus on first.

May doesn’t seem to be faring much better. 

Peter’s head’s resting on her shoulder, her fingers stroking his hair like she used to do when he was younger. It anchors him, if only a bit, in the chaos of pain and frustration and jealousy –

Which is _ridiculous_. Logically speaking, he knows that he didn’t have a, a ¬– a _claim_ or anything on Tony, really. They weren’t together anymore; there was no way of knowing when or if they’d ever be allowed to talk again. There’s hardly a single documentary on Tony that doesn’t mention his promiscuous streak. This shouldn’t come as a surprise. 

And yet. 

Before Peter can wallow any deeper, however, May’s phone rings. 

They disentangle themselves and Peter finally remembers to plug his own phone in to charge when he hears the “What? Diego, slow down,” from the living room. He rushes back, about to ask but his aunt holds up a hand to silence him. 

She still looks like all she wants to do is curl up and process, yet whatever Toomes’s second-in-command is saying at – _ugh_ , almost one in the morning – has her compose herself. May pulls herself together even while she’s listening, and Peter can’t help but be in awe at how strong she is. 

“Diego, hold on,” she says, then fills Peter in. “The FBI shut down the bakery. They’re seizing everything. No one’s allowed inside.”

Peter curses, which would earn him a stern glance if his aunt weren’t a bit preoccupied with the impending lack of pastries for the day. Or the entire weekend… maybe even longer. 

It didn’t even occur to Peter when the FBI had taken Toomes into custody that there would be repercussions for _The Sweet Vulture_ and by extent _The Hybrid Puppy_ , too. They could look for another bakery if it shuts down for good; it would be a pain and they might lose a few regulars, but at the end of the day it’d be okay. Yet Toomes isn’t the only one working at _The Sweet Vulture_ , and Peter knows that Diego, the senior baker, has two daughters to provide for and an _abuela_ in deteriorating health. Most of the other staff members have a police record – they’d never have any real chance on the job market. Toomes has always been big on rehabilitation. 

Peter recognizes the same concern mirrored back at him in May’s expression, so he suggests, “Diego could bake somewhere else? The kitchen at the shop, maybe?”

“That could work,” May nods. “Diego, listen…”

Two hours later, they’re in the parking lot of a 24/7 grocery store loading their purchases into a cab and Peter has long since given up hope of getting any sleep before noon. 

Diego’s a nervous wreck and requires much soothing on May’s part but it gives the young man enough confidence that he starts ordering Peter around the kitchen as soon as they’ve unpacked enough ingredients for him to start baking. The other two junior bakers move seamlessly around the unfamiliar space after getting used to the environment, but there’s an underlying trace of panic to it. They have pre-orders, both at _The Sweet Vulture_ and _The Hybrid Puppy_ , and Manhattan’s a cutthroat field for food services. One screwed-up weekend might damage the _Vulture_ ’s reputation beyond repair, no matter how much they try to salvage it in light of Toomes’s arrest. 

“I’ll put a sign up,” May decides, “redirect all customers to our shop. And get you those ingredients from the market.” Diego smiles gratefully, but May can’t muster one in return. “Are you good to brief the others when they come in?” 

Peter’s nodding and waving her off before she’s even finished speaking. There’s flour on his hands and down the front of the shirt he only changed into three hours ago. He shoots off messages to everyone on shift today to warn them about what’s probably going to be a chaotic weekend while the second load of dishes cools down a bit, then goes right back to work. 

There’s not a single calm second until 8.30 AM, between the early rush and the really early rush, so Peter spends the first reprieve he gets with his eyes closed and waiting for the two cups of coffee to kick in. Customers have been trying to get gossip out of him and complaining about everything from the empty Taste Taster basket to the ‘long walk’ from the _Vulture_ to the _Hybrid Puppy_ , and if one more entitled PA says –

“I’m sorry.”

Peter almost drops the empty mug at the sound of May’s voice. She’s found him in the break room but can’t quite meet his eyes. 

“I’m doing it again.” 

She’s shaking her head slightly. It takes Peter a few seconds to catch on. 

“You’re doing your best,” he says, cause it needs repeating. “And I’m happy to help.” 

“You shouldn’t –” May begins but chokes up. “I’ll do better, sweetie, I promise.”

They’re both tired, their defenses down. Peter can’t stomach his aunt looking so wrecked and he’s winding his arms around her as quickly as he can. He needs her to understand that he means it, that he’s not just saying that out of a sense of obligation or whatever. 

“I…” he says, but has to clear his throat to get his voice to cooperate. “This, uh… This is the only thing I’ve left of… I mean, working here, it – it makes me feel like I’m still close to him, somehow. Even though he’s gone.”

May’s arms tighten around his waist and they fall silent again. Peter wants to stay like this until the storm has passed and everything’s fine again, but time doesn’t work that way. 

May pulls back eventually with a wet sigh. “I hope Stark realizes what a catch you are.” 

“Uh… hey!” Peter tries to duck away with an indignant (if half-hearted) noise of protest but May has already ruffled his hair, so he launches a revenge tickle attack that she side-steps with a grin. 

*

Twenty-four hours later, with the help of the Neighborhood Avengers and some newly-acquired confidence on Diego’s part, they’ve figured out a system that supplies both Manhattan with baked delights and Peter with an almost healthy amount of sleep. 

He even managed to evade any and all questions about the FBI’s reasons for shutting down _The Sweet Vulture_ and has been steering clear of the coverage on the electromagnetic pulse that knocked out most of Brooklyn’s power grid. 

What he can’t escape, however, is his face on the title page of the _New York Times_. 

He’s sorting the shop’s daily order of print newspapers into the appropriate shelf on the first floor when the sense of déjà vu sends a jolt through his entire body. 

The photo shows the arc reactor, Tony on a step ladder handing Peter the wrench and holding his gaze. It must be right before Peter went back to his own coil cause he’s smiling, and Tony’s smiling, too, that much is obvious even though the image has been enlarged digitally to the point where it’s almost too pixelated. 

Then he registers the headline. 

_‘THE POWER THAT SAVED OUR GRID’_  
_‘The billionaire and the barista: The love story no one noticed.’_

A cover story. The front page of the Sunday edition of the New York Times. 

As if on cue, MJ comes jogging up the staircase and zeroes in on him. 

“Have you seen the video?” 

“Wha–”

“I came as soon as I saw it.” She presses something on the screen of her phone before holding it out to him. “It’s already at one-point-five million views on Twitter, and about a million on Facebook.”

With a feeling of mounting dread, Peter accepts the phone and watches. This time it’s been professionally edited; it’s one of those online news videos with captions so you don’t have to annoy people near you or get out your headphones. 

MJ has no such qualms, though, cause she taps the video to unmute the sound. 

For three minutes, Peter is rooted to the spot, watching as the _New York Times_ reduces the past months to a few shots and animated text. They walk the viewer through the initial scandal, provide a few shots of Tony avoiding reporters, then flip the entire narrative on its head by showing Tony stumbling out of a party or gala or whatever. He’s visibly swaying as he climbs into the backseat of the waiting car. 

Peter has to force himself to listen to the female narrator. 

_‘Mr. Stark hasn’t been the same since,’ our source at Stark Industries tells us. ‘He’s been heartbroken.’ And Peter Parker, the young man who won Mr. Stark’s affection, isn’t faring much better.’_

A picture of Peter behind the counter of _The Hybrid Puppy_. He had no idea he could look so miserable. 

_A fellow student admits: ‘He’s been positively pining.’_

Peter’s eyes snap to MJ, whose face darkens. “I’m looking into it,” is all she says. 

The video goes on to talk about the Order of Protection, how they aren’t allowed to be in any contact anymore. 

_But on Friday night, this happened…_

Which explains where the story’s title photo comes from: a recording, clearly made on a smartphone. Peter blinks at himself on the screen, a gun to his head and Toomes guiding him down the stairs. Something he’s gone thirty-six hours trying not to think about. 

The scene plays out like Peter remembers, cuts forward to a note that the clip in its entirety is accessible on the _New York Times_ website and has been shared with the FBI, and then there they are, Tony and Peter, working together to shut down the arc reactor. They move seamlessly, efficiently. Perfectly in sync. 

_Without Mr. Stark and Mr. Parker’s actions, it’s questionable whether we would all still be alive today to watch this._

Peter feels his face heat. 

_And yet they aren’t allowed to be together. Even though Mr. Parker has long reached the age of consent –_

“Are they really –” 

“Keep watching,” MJ says. 

More shots of Tony in boardrooms, shoulders slumped. Peter with a proverbial rain cloud over his head. The video juxtaposes those with stills from before: Tony at _The Hybrid Puppy_ when they weren’t even together yet but already smiling wide and looking much, much happier. 

_So we ask: is this really fair? Is this what fitting punishment looks like in 2018? Is this_ justice _?_

It all ends with a hashtag. A fucking hashtag. 

The clip fades out with a link to the full article that’s still in Peter’s other hand. 

“It’s basically the same,” MJ explains, “only with more quotes from their sources. And a longer conclusion. Whoever snitched from Midtown, they were quite talkative.”

“Oh no…”

MJ pats his arm, taking her phone back. “This is good, Parker. People are siding with the _Times_ on this – never mind that they agreed with the gossip rags back when it was a scandal, but people are stupid; what else is new. At least now they’re stupid in your favor.”

“Can’t they just leave me alone?” Peter grumbles. He’s had enough of being filmed and shoved into the spotlight. 

“You’re dating a celebrity now, Parker. Deal with it.” 

“We’re not –”

“You mean I imagined you sucking face after you guys saved the city?”

That shuts Peter up. MJ smirks. 

“But,” he says, biting his lip. “How’s one article gonna, I don’t know… change public opinion?”

MJ gives him one of her ‘How can you ask such a dumb question’ looks. “This isn’t just one article, Parker. CNN and Yahoo’ve already picked it up and once Europe is awake I’m sure the BBC’s gonna jump on it immediately. And if Buzzfeed hasn’t come out with a listicle by lunch I’ll take a vow of silence.” 

Peter’s head is spinning by the end of MJ’s explanation, delivered while never glancing up from her phone. At least until she sees something that makes her grin at him. 

“Oh, and guess what – you’re trending on Twitter.”

*

“What?” Tony asks – has to, since his brain is having trouble processing anything that isn’t conductor cables or power relays after thirty-three hours of nothing but. 

“I said you’re trending on Twitter.” 

Rhodey sounds amused. And much too awake for a Sunday morning. He’s calling from Washington, where he’s been confined for debriefs about his ten-month undercover op and whatnot. 

“Aren’t I always,” Tony jokes, though secretly, he rejoices. That means people are eating up the new story – the true story. 

“What’s that echo? Where are you, Tones?”

“Finishing up at Brooklyn Heights; last generator that’s been bitching about that EMP. They can all go back to… I don’t know, what time is it?”

“Nine on Sunday morning,” Rhodey says at length. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Uh… Thursday?”

“Yeah, you gonna head straight to bed, Tones.”

“Hm, and have nightmares about judges telling Peter to get lost, oh yeah. Can’t wait.”

“What?”

Tony remembers that Rhodey and he do not actually share a brain so he updates him on recent developments, including his throwdown with May Parker, which makes his best friend fall silent long enough for Tony to say goodbye to the Department of Damage Control crew and power station employees. 

He sinks into the leather seat of the cabriolet with a sigh. “And if the hearing goes well, I still gotta figure out how to woo the kid.”

“Ain’t he wrapped around your little finger already?”

“Maybe he was, but then I went and slept with half of Manhattan.”

Rhodey is quiet for a moment, though where other people would have taken ages – and annoying requests for clarification – to connect the dots, Rhodey does so in mere seconds. 

“Wait, you sayin’ he’s giving you flak for that? What the hell did he expect?”

“Me to be better,” Tony mumbles, and isn’t that the crux of it all? Cause Tony wants that. He wants to be the man Peter has always known he could become. 

He flops down sideways on the backseat with a sigh. “I said I’d take him out on a date but I’m starting to think that was a mistake.”

“For real? Never met anyone who didn’t like a ride in a private helicopter over the city at sunset.”

“Well, you ain’t met the kid yet.”

“Seriously?” 

“He’d be uncomfortable as hell the entire time. I wanna do something we’d both enjoy, but it’s gotta be a date.” So just letting him loose in the workshop’s not going to cut it, Tony thinks. “And I’m not gonna be able to dazzle him… or at least not with how rich I am.”

“There goes your unique selling point.”

“Ey!”

“What, can’t a brother tease you anymore? Course you got more going on. I’ll do some brainstorming, you’ll do some brainstorming. We’ll figure this out, Tones, okay? After you get some sleep.”

Tony breathes out at length. The worry that’s been gnawing at him about how he’s gonna swing this finally recedes a bit. “You’re the best.”

“Hell yeah, I am… But there’s one condition.”

Tony snorts. He should have guessed that. “And what’s that?”

Rhodey pauses for effect. Tony rolls his eyes cause he totally picked that up from him at some point at MIT. Rhodey probably remembers it, too, since Tony can hear the smile in his tone when he finally names his price. 

“I get to meet him.”

And for the first time in days, Tony laughs out loud. 

*

By Monday afternoon, Peter is a nervous wreck. 

He’s dropped two glasses, three mugs and burned himself on the steam wand while trying to make extra foam for a nice librarian in his 60s who brought in his 32-year-old husband to express their support. 

There’s been a lot of that, actually. The tip jar has never been so full. 

Even Mr. Kassell was grinning when he sauntered into the shop Sunday afternoon, and leaned against the display case behind which Peter was preparing a Jersey Java. 

“You’re doing my job for me.”

“Wasn’t me,” Peter grumbled, but he’d be lying if he said that Mr. Kassell’s optimism didn’t affect his mood. 

Today, he’s at the court to run a bit of interference with ADA Torres before she presents the case to the judge. 

“That clock won’t go faster just because you keep looking at it every few seconds,” Larissa chides him. “Now stop fretting and fetch us some more muffins.” 

They get swamped again soon after that, and while the positive attention’s still a lot better than the pitying glances when everyone thought he was the hapless victim of Tony Stark’s charm instead of more of an equal, it’s still exhausting. 

Peter’s about to make a sign to put on their front door that says ‘No service if you ask about the barista’s sex life’ when Mr. Kassell swoops in behind a group of women. 

“Just go,” Larissa says before he can even ask, so Peter motions for the lawyer to join him in the back. 

Peter practically sprints into the break room, then spends half a minute fidgeting until Mr. Kassell strolls in. 

“You’re smiling, that’s, that’s good, right?” he stammers. 

“Very. Guess who kept me company while I was waiting for Torres to emerge from her office.”

Words can’t express how much he doesn’t care, but Peter diligently asks, “Who?” if only because indulging Kassell’s need to show off will speed things up. 

“Someone by the name of Phil Coulson. Ring any bells?”

“From the FBI?”

Mr. Kassell’s smirk widens. “Bingo.”

“Is that… uh, is that good? Wha- What did he want?”

“Oh, nothing untoward, really… Merely wanted to enquire as to the status of the motion since it might impact the Bureau’s investigation.”

“How would that –”

“It wouldn’t. He was just throwing his weight around. Probably even thought it was subtle. Well, it was if you don’t know any better,” Mr. Kassell adds with a cocky grin. “Seems the FBI has a vested interest in keeping Mr. Stark in good spirits. You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you, Mr. Parker?”

Peter shakes his head. He can’t quite make heads or tails of the entire thing. 

“Well, whatever the reason, it’ll help. He’s not going to face separate charges for breaching parole last Friday because the DA’s going to bring that up at the hearing on Friday.”

“Frida– _this_ Friday?!”

“Even judges want to ride the public tide,” Kassell says sagely. “I’m quite familiar with the one they assigned to our case. He has ambitions. I can play that in our favor and I’m certain Mr. Stark’s counsel will do the same.”

Just a week to get through, Peter realizes. Not even that. Four days. 

*

“To your last night of misery,” Pepper toasts, lifting her bottle of Heineken. 

“Ey, don’t jinx it.”

“Aw, Tones,” Rhodey coos. 

Bruce nods along as he pours himself another cup of tea. “You were the one who said he needed a, and I quote, a ‘game plan’. I assumed you figured you’d win.”

“Game plan? Why?” Pepper doesn’t sit up, though – she’s too comfortable slouching on the penthouse sofa next to Bruce. 

There’s something to be said about Pepper drinking beer from her bottle while still in a perfectly tailored costume. Toeing off her heels has been her only concession to their Thursday evening meet up. 

Tony hopes for the sofa he’s on to swallow him whole before he has to explain the situation he’s in, but of course you can always count on Rhodey to never pass up an opportunity to point out Tony’s failings. It’s been keeping him quite busy for the past decades. 

“Oh, Tones ordered me here on official dating advice business.”

Pepper and Bruce both narrow their eyes at him. It’s Bruce who points out the obvious. “You don’t even know how the judge will decide. You shouldn’t get your hopes up, Tony.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Ugh, reason. How Tony hates that sometimes. And getting drunk isn’t an option either cause that would be the kind of self-sabotage even he recognizes before engaging in it, so… beer it is. 

And he needs another one. 

“But this is tricky; I can’t just wing it tomorrow if the judicial guard dogs finally leave us alone.” 

“You say that as if you’ve never taken anyone on a date before,” Bruce points out, which makes Rhodey’s smirk widen. 

“This ain’t about just anyone, doc.”

“So this is about Peter.”

“Isn’t everything these days,” Pepper sighs and Tony throws the cap of his new bottle at her. 

“Bite me, Potts.”

“Not in my job description, Mr. Stark.”

“You two, shush.” Rhodey shuffles forward in his armchair. He’s got his serious face on, now. “Alright, brother; what’ve you got? Let me know where your head’s at.”

“In the gutter, I assume,” Bruce comments without inflection, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. 

Tony throws a decorative pillow at him, then groans. “I don’t know, all my usual haunts require either an ID or a jet, and the kid took ages to stop being funny about the car service. So I can’t take him on a helicopter ride either cause he’d just be awkward the entire time… And me slumming it somewhere just feels so, so,” Tony flaps his hands, “so forced. I don’t wanna look like I’m trying too hard.”

“But you are,” Pepper says. “Why not simply have dinner here? Get the view without the helicopter and avoid the tabloids comparing you to Mr. Grey.”

“Who? Never mind,” Tony huffs. “Been there, done that.”

“A walk in Central Park?” Bruce suggests. 

“Booooring… but now I know what to tell anyone asking for advice on dating you, buddy.”

The ensuing snort is rather un-Bruce-like. Tony files that away for later. 

Rhodey’s face lights up with another idea. “Escape room!”

Which Tony shoots down with, “Had an impromptu one last week, so no, thanks.”

“What’s wrong with dinner and a movie?”

“Boring! Trying to woo him here, Pep, not put him in a coma with my utter lack of originality.”

“Museum of Sex?” she fires back. 

“Admission is over eighteen only,” Bruce supplies, then blushes when everyone turns to him with raised eyebrows. 

“Kayaking on the Hudson?”

“Cooking classes?” 

“Something you wanna tell me, Bruce?”

“Merely offering suggestions.”

Pepper empties her bottle and gets up to fetch another. “Planetarium?”

“Pfff… meh.”

“A science museum?”

Tony shrugs again. 

“Oh, brother! I got it. You ready?” 

Rhodey pauses, grinning. Also ignoring Tony’s long-suffering sigh. 

“A scavenger hunt.”

“What are we, five?”

“Nah, hear me out, Tones. I don’t mean those shitty organized ones, I mean you designing the puzzles yourself. It’ll be up to you how difficult or boring it’s gonna be; maybe you can ask the good doc to pitch in, too. Get you and Parker geeking out over science and stuff – I mean that’s how it started, isn’t it?” 

“I think it’s an interesting idea.” Bruce spins his empty cup between his fingers. “You wouldn’t even need to go outside if you’d rather stay in. The Tower’s certainly big enough for a scavenger hunt… And you could show Peter all the new projects you started.”

“The project he inspired, you mean,” Pepper says with a smirk. 

Tony ignores her in favor of squinting at Bruce. “That’s positively Machiavellian of you, buddy. Where’ve you been hiding that?”

“He had his first coaching session with Remy yesterday,” Pepper explains, “since there’s no way he’ll get around a press junket when his research is published.”

Rhodey clinks his bottle against Bruce’s tea pot on the table. “My condolences, Doc.”

Bruce simply smiles wryly as if to say ‘I suffer for the greater good’ before steering them back on track with a, “So, a scavenger hunt?” 

Tony slumps further against the sofa cushions. He can imagine it, the two of them chasing up and down the Tower, solving equations and finding clues. Plotting the route would be a no-brainer, ending in the workshop to show off the car engine design that runs on the arc reactor, after which it would be very easy to push Peter against the nearest table and…

Well. 

He’s rarely seen Bruce looking smug. He saves that for when it’s warranted. Today, it sort of is.

Both Rhodey and Pepper have caught the sudden shift in atmosphere, eyes darting back and forth between him and Bruce with quizzical expressions. 

“What’s up, Tones?”

“Bruce, what’s going on?”

“Oh, just an uncooperative patient.”

“Patient –?! But you said the cut’s –” 

“Fine, yeah, and it is, look,” Tony interrupts her, pulling back the T-shirt where the skin’s healing nicely, courtesy of the newest, not-yet-FDA-approved marvel from Stark Medical. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” 

“This is the part where you admit to doing something dumb that you’re not gonna talk about cause we’d tell you it’s dumb and then you gonna do it anyway, isn’t it?” Rhodey turns to Bruce. “Can we skip ahead to the part where you take pity on us and tell us?”

“He can’t, I have patient-doctor confidentiality!”

“What you have,” Bruce snaps, “is chlamydia.”

Tony takes another swig from his beer. 

An aborted giggle makes them all look to Pepper, though, who’s trying really hard not to laugh. “You, ha, you finally have the whole set, then?” 

“Right,” Rhodey jumps in, “gonorrhea was at twenty-six, syphilis from your birthday party when you turned thirty, cancroid at thirty-two –”

“Yes, thank you, buddy, I was there.” 

“God, Tony, why are you drinking! Aren’t you on antibiotics?”

Bruce’s face darkens and Tony flees to the bar to get himself another bottle. Unfortunately Pepper follows him, bare feet and all. 

“ _Tony._ ” 

“Leave it, Pep.”

“Tones,” Rhodey calls, also getting to his feet, and nope, Tony won’t let them corner him. 

“It’s dormant and no big deal, it’s not gonna matter if I start taking the damn meds now or tomorrow or on fucking Monday, so can you all just back off already?”

Too bad he’s in the room with the three people who know him best. Better than himself, even, cause he’s not sure he could explain this if he wanted to. 

All he knows is that he couldn’t stomach the thought of getting through the week while on antibiotics. He needs to be on his A-game for the hearing and insomnia’s such a bitch in that regard, but mixing booze with meds is a shitty idea, too. Besides, what if Tony spends the week curing the infection and then the judge won’t void the order? Or, worst case scenario, Peter doesn’t want to go out with him after all? There’s no chance in hell Tony could get through that while sober. 

He doesn’t say any of that, however. What he does is brush past Pepper and Rhodey and throw himself back onto the sofa. 

“Alright, peeps. Scavenger hunt. Talk to me.”

And his friends, cause they’re the best, shut up and let him change the topic. 

*

When the court house comes into view, both Peter and Aunt May stop in their tracks. 

“Dude, what – oh.”

MJ puts on the sunglasses she brought. “Told you, Parker.”

“Told him what?” May asks. 

“That he’s dating a celebrity.”

It’s clear that she thinks he should have expected to find the entrance to the court house cluttered with reporters, and he did, just… not that many. Steve and Bucky saying they volunteered to keep ‘the masses’ out makes a lot more sense now. 

Haggard New Yorkers rush past them – they’re sort of blocking the sidewalk, cause there’s four of them – yet one person turns on their heels once they’re in front of their group. 

“How I love punctual clients,” Mr. Kassell says, and holds out his hand to May after inclining his head towards Peter. 

It’s not the first time they meet; that was two days ago when he prepared them in case either May, MJ or Ned will have to take the witness stand in support of Peter’s motion. And, well, he needs them there as moral reinforcements, too. 

“Shall we?”

With Mr. Kassell leading the way, it’s easier to ignore the sound of flashes going off and people shouting his name. Steve smiles at him as Peter walks past the barrier and Bucky winks. 

The _RAWR_ of an engine cuts through the noise and Peter turns in time to catch Tony stopping at the curb in a car Peter’s never seen him in before. It’s an ara blue Audi R8 Coupe that complements Tony’s pale grey waistcoat, and Peter would bet his comic book collection Tony chose it for that exact reason. 

“That’s ridiculous,” MJ mutters. “How many cars does he have?” 

Along with every reporter in the vicinity, Peter watches Tony exit the car and make a show of taking his jacket from the passenger seat before putting it on while the Audi drives itself off in search of a parking spot. 

It frees up the street at the bottom of the stairs for a second car, an SUV that manages to look sleek despite its bulk, which must hold Tony’s legal counsel cause he reaches back to open the door without looking. 

Out steps Pepper Potts herself. 

Peter thinks he hears MJ stifle a gasp, though before he can verify that, Mr. Kassell is herding them into the building since “The main attraction has arrived.”

Inside, he directs them to one of the less crowded waiting areas and seeks out a clerk for an update on when they can expect to be called in front of Judge Wethers. Peter tries his best not to start fidgeting immediately but it’s a lost cause. 

MJ has taken a seat underneath the window and busies herself with snapping a picture of the open book in her lap to continue live-tweeting her trip, which she cleared with Peter and Mr. Kassell during their prep session. 

A few minutes later, May and Ned are talking over paper cups from the water dispenser in the corner and Peter pretends to be playing something on his phone when Tony and his party walk past the room. 

Tony turns around immediately, though, and even gets as far as the doorframe before seemingly out of nowhere, Mr. Kassell appears to step in his way. 

“Mr. Stark, I’m Victor Kassell. What a pleasure to meet you.” 

The fact that Tony ignores his outstretched hand barely gives him pause. 

“Need I remind you that the Order of Protection against you is still in effect, or were you merely checking to see if this room had a soda machine?”

Peter catches the smallest hint of a frown tugging at Tony’s smile.

“The latter,” he says.

“Then I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Stark. Why don’t you try one room further down the hallway?”

“That’s a splendid idea,” the blonde woman who can only be Mrs. Ainsley answers in Tony’s stead, then leads the way. Mrs. Potts and Dr. Banner remain until Tony, too, abandons the room in favor of other pastures. 

But not without meeting Peter’s eyes first. 

Once he’s gone, Peter sinks into the chair next to MJ. It hasn’t quite hit him until right now – this is it. 

*

Judge Wethers is a bit young to be sitting on the bench, but since Tony knows for a fact the guy’s got his eyes set on reaching the Senate in a decade or less that’s a good thing. Political aspirations are better than pre-retirement cynicism or boredom. They can work with aspirations.

Or rather, Peter’s shiny lawyer can. He’s the only one talking at the moment, presenting his case against DA Torres who’s failing spectacularly at hiding how much she despises her opposing counsel. 

Ainsley is watching from her position next to Tony, biding her time until she’s called upon. 

They’re seated halfway down the room and on the other side of the aisle – as close to Peter at the front as possible without provoking problems. Rhodey, Pepper and Bruce are in the row behind him cause Ainsley said they might need character witnesses… but that was just a convenient excuse so Tony didn’t have to outright ask them to come. 

Kassell, it soon turns out, is one of the few self-assured douchebags who’ve actually earned their bragging rights. He’s quite brilliant – but so is Torres. 

She makes a big deal out of last Friday and what letting that slide would mean for the juridical system – “Then why isn’t she suing my ass?” Tony mutters, earning an elbow to the side from Ainsley – which Kassell objects to.

All the puffing and posturing would be getting tedious even without the legalese. As is, Tony manages to plan his travel schedule for the required trips to Europe to check out possible locations for the arc reactor engine factory before Judge Wethers has had enough and bangs his gravel. 

Both Torres and Kassell stop immediately.

“Thank you, counselors,” he says, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his tone. “I’ve read the reports, I considered the evidence – even that convenient video you supplied, Mr. Kassell – and I’m going to need to hear from the complaining witness first-hand despite your best efforts.”

Meaning Peter is sworn in so he can explain why he didn’t leave Tony to deal with the reactor on his own or, you know, why he didn’t call the police – 

“Uh, my phone was dead, your Honor, and at that point I didn’t have any proof yet.”

It sounds perfectly innocent but Tony catches the cheeky undertone. He has to bite his tongue to keep himself from reacting. Pepper will skin him alive if he’s held in contempt today. 

“Also, uh, your Honor,” Peter continues. “The motion had already been filed and, um, therefore the Order of Protection was already contested by the time To– um, Mr. Stark and I crossed paths.” 

Huh, seems someone was adequately prepped for the stand. 

Including the ADA’s cross-examination. 

It’s only been a few months since Peter faced her for the first time but his demeanor couldn’t be more different: he still trips over his words sometimes but when it happens, he keeps going. Tony watches in wonder how… well, how _mature_ Peter has become. Anyone less, uh, intimately familiar with him would probably miss this entirely but Tony’s fascinated. 

If he ignores the regret that goes along with it cause _he wasn’t there_ to see it happen. 

“Mr. Kassell, do you want to call another witness?” 

Judge Wethers isn’t the only one surprised when Mr. Kassell declines. 

“We’d like to let Mr. Parker’s statement speak for itself. His experiences are what matters.”

“Mrs. Torres?”

“A noble sentiment,” the ADA smiles. “Yet I’m afraid I must call Mr. Stark to the stand.” 

Tony bites down any comments that spring to mind and contends himself with a cocky grin. Ainsley leads the way and Tony dutifully swears to tell the truth, the whole truth, yada yada yada. 

Of course Torres hassles him about Friday night. 

Tony’s revenge consists of a three-minute lecture on physics and why “it was a two-man job, really. Couldn’t have done it without Peter, even if I hadn’t been seriously outnumbered.”

“So you risked your probation?”

“Yes.”

“Some call you a hero for what you did.” Torres’s voice is perfectly level. 

“Just doing the right thing. I do what’s best for this country and losing its biggest city to an exploding fusion reactor? Don’t know about you but that sounds rather bad.”

“What about driving three minors home in your sports car? And leaving Mr. Parker for last? How does that sound?”

She’s goading him, ugh. Tony’s met Instagram celebrities capable of more finesse than that. 

He heaves a sigh loud enough to make it into the court protocols. “Well, we experienced a difficult situation – you know, with the almost-getting-blown-up bit of it all? So I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

Tony’s eyes dart towards Peter who’s watching from the aisle, tenser than Tony’s ever seen him. 

Torres quirks a brow. “So your intentions were pure?”

“My intentions are rarely pure, Mrs. Torres,” Tony says, “or we wouldn’t be here today.”

“You admit that something happened? Please remember –”

“That I’m under oath, yeah, yeah, got that part.”

That earns him a stern “Mr. Stark,” from Judge Wethers but also the flicker of a grin from Peter. Worth it. 

“We kissed,” Tony admits. “We stopped before it got out of hand. Or in hand, if that’s not subtle enough for ya.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Torres holds up her palm, “I believe the Court understood the first time.”

“And I believe I’ve heard enough to make my decision,” Judge Wethers says, and it comes so suddenly that Tony finds himself staring at the man in surprise. 

A bang of the gravel and all the whispers his announcement has inspired grind to a halt. 

“Reconvene in an hour. Court adjourned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... *hits post* ... *slinks off into the darkness* ...


	29. twenty-nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't planned. And I wash my hands of all responsibility. See, this is what happened: 
> 
> Me: Ok, here is the plan. *clears throat*  
> Character: Hold up. You're forgetting something.  
> Me: Huh...  
> Me: ...  
> Me: Indeed I am. 
> 
> Then this practically wrote itself. I wasn't in the least bit involved xD (I'm rather proud of this chapter, though, so I hope you enjoy!)

“A-an hour? Why does he need an hour, that’s so long, why can’t he –“

“Anticipation. Building suspense,” Mr. Kassell’s smiling – it’s good that he’s smiling, right?

“Relax, Mr. Parker. There were no major hick-ups.”

MJ looks up from typing on her phone. “No major hick-ups isn’t the same as an optimistic outlook.”

The lawyer exhales audibly. “Well, the decision is in Judge Wethers’s hands now. He has to set a precedent. And yes, Miss Williams, you may quote me on that.” Kassell smirks at Peter. “He’ll like that.”

For the sake of the country’s legal system, Peter hopes that a Twitter thread won’t affect Judge Wethers’s decision. For himself, though... 

“Parker. I need a quote from you, too.”

“Wh– really?”

“It’ll help.”

“Your follower count, you mean.”

MJ doesn’t rise to the bait. “I’m doing this to gather data, not to turn into a celebrity; that’s your gig. I’m going to analyze the responses – not just to this, to the entire scandal – and see how today’s media landscape reacts to controversial topics.”

Across the aisle, Tony is conferring with Mrs. Potts and his lawyer. Neither of them is frowning, which is another strike in the good column, Peter thinks, isn’t it? At that moment, Tony looks up, as though he felt Peter’s eyes on him.

Their gazes meet. 

He can see the same worry that’s tugging at him reflected in Tony’s expression, and the same unease coil in his stomach... but there’s hope, too. 

“Stark and Parker making moon-eyes at each other across the court room,” MJ reads as she writes, startling Peter and breaking the moment. “This is gonna be a long break, dot-dot-dot. Hashtag FreeStarker, hashtag why-am-I-friends-with-romantic-idiots.” She raises her head. “You have two seconds to protest before I tweet it.”

He manages a “Moon-eyes?” which MJ defends with “What else would you call it?” and it’s out in the world. 

Across the room, Tony pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it... and chuckles. JARVIS probably pulled up the right thread immediately. 

“He – he liked my Tweet.”

Peter glances back at MJ, who‘s staring at her screen, slack-jawed. This is as close to speechless as Peter has ever seen her. 

Across the room, Tony smirks at them before following his friends in their exit. 

*

Peter’s been waiting forever but a glance at the clock shows they still have twenty-five minutes. How can they still have twenty-five minutes?

Aunt May places a hand on his leg to put an end to the jiggling. 

“Sweetie, why don’t you get us some snacks?”

Peter’s stomach is in knots but he knows she’s not asking cause either of them is hungry. He leaves the waiting room – a different one, further from the court rooms since it’s getting more and more crowded as the afternoon goes on – and finds a vending machine at the back of the corridor, past the elevators and around a corner. 

Someone’s already there, fishing a can of diet soda out of the dispenser. The man straightens and – shit. It’s Colonel Rhodes.

Who turns around to face him as though he heard him coming. Well, uh, trained soldier, so he probably did… 

“Oh, uh, hi, sir,” Peter manages and immediately cringes. 

The Colonel smiles at that. “Sir? Ha, Tony’s gonna love that. Call me Rhodey.”

He holds out a hand which Peter hurries to shake. His grip is crushing but Peter grits his teeth and doesn’t wince. Or he tries, at least, which has got to count for something. 

“Hi, uh, I’m Peter. Peter Parker.”

“In case I’da confused you with the five other Peters I know?”

Peter ducks his head but he’s under no illusion that Colonel Rhod¬– _Rhodey_ , that Rhodey can’t see his cheeks color. 

“Is this, um...” he swallows. “I-Is this the part where you tell me you wouldn’t need your service weapon to kill me if I hurt him?”

Cause that’s how this goes, this shovel talk thing, from what Peter has heard and read.

And he expects something like a dark grin or a somber nod, but none of these things happen. Instead, Rhodey deflates on a reverent, “ _Damn._ Way to rain on a brother’s parade, man.” 

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Nah, it’s fine... As long as you got the message.”

Peter nods frantically. “Yes, yeah, uh, message received loud and clear, sir – I mean, Rhodey!”

The other man’s laughing by now, yet it doesn’t sound unkind. So far, so good… Peter prefers to amuse the most important person in Tony’s life over making him want to shoot him on sight.

“Damn, your face, Parker. You look like a scared puppy.”

By now he’s probably also beet red. “Um, it’s not just about you.” At Rhodey’s arched eyebrow, Peter explains, “It’s the decision.” 

“Whose?”

Peter blinks. “The judge’s.”

“You sure about that?”

“Uh…” Peter shifts his weight from one foot to the other for lack of anything else to do. What’s the Colonel getting at?

Crossing his arms, Rhodey takes pity on him and explains, “Tony told me about what happened in the car. Not the graphic details, just the gist of it. He’s no fool, Tony, and he thinks you might be having second thoughts.”

Rhodey lowers his hands and reaches for the can of diet soda he put down on the vending machine.

“So I’m asking, where’s your head at? Cause Tony sure as hell doesn’t deserve you falling into this and then going all jealous on his pasty ass.” 

“I’m,” Peter starts but stops. He has no idea how to finish that sentence. 

The can opens with a hiss of carbon dioxide.

“That’s what I figured.” Rhodey shakes his head. “You deserve each other, man. Rushing into things without a plan or all the info you’re gonna need. And then you throw a fit when you hit a bump in the road.” 

“I didn’t throw – it’s just – I…” he trails off, flapping his hand. 

Rhodey drains the can in one go and crumples the aluminum in his right hand – Peter gulps – then tosses it right into the bin a couple of feet away. 

“Sure, I get it, man. It’s all nice and cozy when you’re nothing but each other’s dirty little secrets, but then the real world creeps in and suddenly it ain’t all unicorns and rainbows anymore. Banner told me about the wedding, ‘bout how you were giving that woman the death glare. Sure, Tones ain’t any better in that regard, but come on, man – he’s Tony Stark. Every gold digger in the world’s gonna throw themselves at his feet whether he’s in a relationship or not. If you can’t trust him to keep his word to you, then you better get the hell outta here cause you’re right, I really don’t need a weapon. And I got an amazingly high security clearance…”

“I do trust him,” Peter says. It comes out a lot stronger than he expected considering how intimidated he feels at the moment. “I know it’s, I mean, we weren’t even together so – and at the wedding it looked, well, it looked like something it wasn’t but we talked about it and… I’ll get a handle on it. I – I swear.”

“You sure?”

Peter swallows and nods. 

Rhodey doesn’t smile, though. He crosses his arms again and leans his shoulder against the vending machine. “What about the crazy schedule?”

“Uh, Tony’s?”

“Yeah. Sure, at the beginning it’s all exciting and every second you’re spending with him’s like the highlight of your day, but that’s gonna fade. Tony’s obligations won’t. He’s gonna be traveling a lot, got a trip planned next week, did ya know that, Peter?”

No, he didn’t. Peter tries to ignore the dull throb of disappointment. 

“Cause he’s got a company to run. Yeah, Pepper’s taking care of the every-day business side of things but you know Tony’s never not working, don’t you? I shared a room with him at MIT and almost strangled him on more occasions than I care to remember. He’d probably fuse himself to a computer if he’d figured out how already – and believe me, that idiot’s been working on that, too. You sure you can handle that, Peter? Full-time, not just whenever you manage to sneak away? The constant interruptions when someone needs something from Tony who’s never off the clock, going long-distance for weeks cause he’s upgrading some facility or kissing asses halfway across the globe to close some deal or other?”

Peter bites his lips. He wants to say yes, sure, of course, but… would he really manage? 

“I’m gonna be straight with you here, Peter,” Rhodey says, and he’s standing tall again, his expression gruff. “You gotta think this through. You’re young, and from what I heard you’ve been putting Tony first – skipping school, staying up all night to be there for him when you should’ve put yourself to bed…”

“Of course,” Peter mumbles. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“Well, Tones won’t do the same for you.”

“Wha-? Of course he’d –”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Rhodey says. “You think you’re gonna be number one on his priority list? Sorry to tell you, man, but no one’s ever gonna get that high. And no, you’re not the exception either. You’re the fucking rule. Tony’s always gonna choose work over everything. Over everyone. Why’d you think Pepper did the sane thing and dumped his ass? She thought it’s gonna be different with her, too, and at first I gotta admit it really looked that way. But sooner or later, you’re gonna have an emergency and would need your boyfriend to be there and hold your hand but he’s gonna be too busy fixing some glitch or having some life-or-death meeting. Or he’ll forget an anniversary too many and then you’re gonna realize that you’ll always come second, so let me save you the trouble.”

Rhodey sighs, taking a step back. “You gotta think this through, Peter, and I’m not entirely sure you have yet. Loving Tony Stark’s a dirty job and from where I’m standing you don’t seem like you’re really all that equipped to handle it.”

With that, Rhodey walks past him without so much as another glance. 

Peter stares into nothing. He wants to shout after the man that he’s gonna prove him wrong, that it’ll be different, that he’s going into this with his eyes open but… is he, really? 

Someone laughs at the end of the hall and all of a sudden the low buzz of conversations from the waiting room is much too loud in Peter’s ears. He needs somewhere quiet, somewhere to gather himself cause he can’t return to the court room feeling like he’s coming loose at the seams. 

Peter presses his palms against his eyes for a moment before spinning on his heels, heading right for the door to the staircase next to the elevators. The men’s room two floors down has a higher chance of being empty since it’s the administrative floor and –

_Clack-clack-clack._

Peter stops, one hand on the railing. 

“Oh, hello. I don’t believe we’ve officially had the pleasure.”

It’s Pepper Potts. 

She’s in a smart, charcoal lady suit with a light purple blouse underneath that matches her purse. She looks meticulous, as always, and makes wearing ten-inch heels seem effortless. 

Peter tries to swallow the lump clogging his throat. It works, for the most part, but his voice comes out a bit raspy regardless. “Uh, no, I don’t think… I’m Peter,” he says, descending the remaining five steps so he’s level with the woman and can extend his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Potts.”

“Likewise.” If she notices how clammy his palm is, she ignores it. “Are you alright, Peter? You’re quite pale.”

“Um, sure, I-I’m fine, it’s fine, it’s all…”

“Fine?” she offers with an upturn to her lips. At Peter’s nod, though, she adds, “Now, do you mean that in the general definition of the word, or are you using Tony’s?”

Peter blinks. He’s aware that his mouth is hanging open a little in a way that’s definitely not very attractive but his brain’s still too caught up in what Rhodey said to think of a witty reply. Or any at all, for that matter. 

“No one expects you to be fine, Peter,” Mrs. Potts says, taking her phone out of her handbag. “Not even Tony. I know it can all get a bit much, especially when you’re new to all of this.” 

He should probably understand what she means by that but Peter doesn’t get it. 

“All of what, um, ma’am?”

Mrs. Potts pauses, thumb hovering over her phone screen. “The constant attention. Have you hired private security for your coffee shop yet? It’s an easy target for paparazzi and you wouldn’t believe the lengths they go to. We’ve had journalists sneak into Stark Tower as part of a guided tour and plant recording devices in employee lounges and bathrooms despite our best efforts.” 

Peter feels his eyes widen. 

“I’m just glad we have JARVIS,” she continues, unlocking her phone. “He does regular scans and can tell us when we’re being monitored.” Whatever she sees affects her entire stance – her shoulder relax and her polite smile gives way to a weary sigh. “Thank god the stairwell’s clear, so I don’t have to keep up the small talk, ugh, it’s exhausting.”

“Wha… I don’t…”

“I’ve been meaning to catch you in private.” 

“You have? Is this about – but, uh, Colonel Rho– I mean, Rhodey already talked to me,” he points out, though somehow he doubts that will get him out of this stairwell. 

“That’s good; though I believe he and I are coming at this from a different angle.” Mrs. Potts smiles again, more genuine this time. “There are a few things I believe I need to talk to you about since Tony tends to avoid the topic of PR like the plague. And while you’ve done an admirable job so far lying low, I’d bet my remaining vacation days that eventually your luck is going to run out.”

“PR?” Peter echoes, cause… _what?_

“Yes, PR. Regardless of how today turns out, it might be good to consider issuing a joint statement from the two of you. Of course, if the judge lifts the order and you start dating, that would bring a lot more with it for us to consider. I admit I’m quite looking forward to Tony having a regular plus one to take with him to events; I’m sure you’ll be a mitigating influence on him in that regard, too. Obviously we’re not going to send you into this blind, Peter – you’ll have the entirety of the company’s marketing department at your disposal. They know the risks and pitfalls better than anyone and will be able to give you a thorough crash course as soon as you can make the time.”

“Uh, you don’t nee– I mean, I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Precisely,” Mrs. Potts says immediately. “That’s why we need you to do this. I promise, nothing more than a few hours, even though I’ve heard Yasmine hold entire webinars about the hidden risks of couple selfies – and I can’t believe I just said ‘couple selfie’ without being the least bit ironic, what’s my life coming to…”

Mrs. Potts shakes her head, chuckling despite herself. 

Peter has no idea what to respond to first – surely there won’t be any need for statements, will there? And why would they post selfies, Tony’s never done that before and Peter isn’t even on Instagram and… 

“I’m sorry, Peter, I didn’t mean to steamroll you.” Mrs. Potts looks genuinely put-out. “It’s just…” She heaves a sigh. “Well, in today’s world you have to be careful, that’s all. I’m not going to lie, Peter, it’s… Maintaining a sense of privacy in this life can be difficult. Even with our resources. They’re just always there, always waiting for you to screw up, and damn, sometimes I just want to hit Tony over the head and knock some sense into him.”

Peter remembers with visceral clarity how Pepper ripped into Tony after the live interview fiasco. 

“However,” Mrs. Potts continues, and now she’s fixing him with a no-nonsense look, “if you’re not prepared to endure that, there’s little use in keeping up your relationship with Tony.”

Oh. So that’s the real reason she wanted to speak to him. 

“It’s not that bad,” Peter says, yet even to his own ears it sounds naïve. 

“That’s because it hasn’t been. After today, you’re on their radar, no matter what happens. And the summer won’t last forever – one of your classmates already spoke with the _New York Times_ and I doubt they’ll be the last one. I don’t envy you, Peter. It was hard enough for me, but I was already in my twenties when I got sucked into The Tony Stark Show.” 

“Don’t you want us to be together?” Peter finally asks, cause it’s the question he really needs answered. “First Colonel Rhodes, now you…”

But Mrs. Potts shakes her head. “Quite the contrary, Peter. Well, I’m not gonna lie, there’ve been times in the past when I cursed your name and I still don’t get why you couldn’t have been just two years older when you met him for the first time. But he’s opened up to you in ways I’ve never…” Mrs. Potts trails off. 

Peter thinks back to that Monday morning after the water bomb incident. He’s always wondered how much Mrs. Potts overheard back then, and now he has his answer – an awful lot, apparently. 

“I’ve never seen him like he is with you, and I really hope it works out but I wouldn’t be his friend if I weren’t looking out for him. So this is me, looking out for him. Because frankly, Peter, I’m not sure you have what it takes.”

He flinches back at that, yet before he can as much as voice his protest, Mrs. Potts is talking again. 

“Hear me out, please. You’re a sensible young man but your emotions are blinding you. If you agree to go ahead with this, you wouldn’t just be dating Tony, you’d be in a relationship with Tony Stark, the face of Stark Industries. I think I don’t have to explain to you how your actions can impact the company in a negative way –” 

Peter winces. 

“– and as much as I’d love for Tony to finally be happy, I’m also the CEO of a multinational conglomerate. I have to protect it from threats, even if they come in the shape of a teenager.”

“I’m not a threat,” Peter insists, “I’d never do anything to hurt him or his company, Mrs. Potts, I swear.”

Instead of answering, she unlocks her phone again. A few taps later, several holograms appear in the space between them. 

One is a graph showing the Stark Industries stock price over the past year. The collapse at the end of May is striking. 

Another graph maps… oh. The company’s total profits, which have been declining, according to this, ever since… yeah, ever since the photo from the wedding leaked. 

“Intentions count for very little in business,” Mrs. Potts says. “But, well… You’ve been good for Tony. You two have potential to be great together, though I’m also afraid of the damage you could.”

Peter hates that his eyes are starting to burn but she’s right, isn’t she, this could go horribly wrong – no, this has already gone horribly wrong. The company is Tony’s life and if Peter did anything to ruin that beyond repair, he’d never be able to forgive himself. 

He almost doesn’t catch what Mrs. Potts says next. 

“I’m sorry. I wish it were easier. You have a big choice to make, Peter. Here, my card.”

Peter reaches out mechanically. The paper feels heavy in his grip.

“If you decide to take the risk, please contact me so we can set up an appointment. Your aunt is welcome, too, of course, and to be perfectly safe we should include your close friends as well – even though Miss Williams is already giving my PR department a run for their money.”

She smiles at him, however ruefully, and Peter has no choice but to promise he’ll reach out. 

The echo of her _clack-clack-clack_ has long since faded from the stairwell before Peter manages to unlock his joints and start moving again. 

His head’s swimming and he wipes at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t know what he wants more right now – to curl up somewhere or to punch something cause it’s just not fair, damn it. This isn’t supposed to be so complicated. 

He finally reaches the bathroom and pushes through the door, intending to slip straight into a cubicle, but then he spots the person currently washing his hands at the sink. 

It’s Dr. Banner. 

“Oh come on!” Peter groans. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I already got the shovel talk from Rhodey and then Mrs. Potts, and I get it, okay? I don’t want to hurt him and not by accident either and I swear, I’m gonna think about all the ramifications, the reporters and the company and the spotlight, and, and – and I’m gonna talk this over with Tony, too, and I’ll go into this with my eyes wide open, okay? Like, I mean, really open, not like back when we were still – cause yeah, that was, that was easy, I get that, it’s a – it’s a different situation now and… Just…” 

Peter exhales and gives the other man a pleading look. “I don’t need another lecture, Dr. Banner. I really don’t. I’m not gonna… I‘m not gonna take this lightly. I’ll make a decision I can stand by and stick out, no matter what, I swear.”

His chest is heaving by the time he stops. Dr. Banner’s mouth is forming a stunned ‘O’ but he catches himself again soon.

“I was only using the lavatory, Peter.”

_Oh._

Dr. Banner grabs a paper towel from the dispenser but his eyes stay on Peter. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m, I’m…”

He’s about to say ‘fine’ but that’d be a lie. 

Judging by his wry smile, Dr. Banner’s aware of what’s going through his head. The man finishes drying his hands and bins the towel before taking a deep breath. 

“I don’t know exactly what Colonel Rhodes and Pepper said to you but I can imagine. And you’ve clearly got enough to think about so I don’t want to add to it, but… a piece of advice?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Peter nods. 

“Whatever you do, don’t lie to Tony.” Dr. Banner’s expression is soft, almost amiable. “Keep him in the loop, _always_ , especially if you decide to give this another chance between you. No matter what happens, don’t lie to him,” he repeats. “I can imagine there’ll be plenty of bumps in the road ahead but I assure you there’ll always be a chance to patch things up if you’re honest with him. He’s been betrayed by too many people to forgive another one. Don’t lead him on, Peter. I doubt he’d survive that.”

Dr. Banner lets his words hang between them for a few seconds, then clears his throat. 

“Good luck,” he says, and he’s out the door. 

Peter looks at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His head’s a mess, everyone’s words swirling together and they all make sense, don’t they, that’s the problem – Peter’s been the dirty little secret so far. Today’s the first taste of what it would be like to live in the spotlight… and it’s been hell. 

* 

Bruce takes a moment to compose himself before he steps back into the corridor. The clock on the wall shows the hour is almost over, just five more minutes left, and as expected Tony is waiting in front of the doors to the court room with Pepper and Colonel Rhodes. 

He can’t exactly call them out for what they did – ambushing a seventeen-year-old, really, what the heck were they thinking – so he contends himself with glaring at both of them. 

Pepper lifts her chin and Colonel Rhodes arches a challenging eyebrow. 

Tony, of course, misses the exchange entirely. He’s too preoccupied with pretending to be relaxed, even though Bruce can see his hands are clenched fits in the pockets of his dress pants.

On the one-hour mark, the doors open behind them. 

“Fucking finally,” Tony mutters under his breath. 

This time, Bruce slides into the same bench as his friend. Tony’s grateful smile is brief but it’s there. He’s not one for platitudes and even if he were, Bruce has no idea what could possibly help his friend right now. 

Nothing is going to change the verdict at this point. 

Peter looks marginally more composed when he enters the court room with his friends and family. His eyes find Tony’s instantly and Bruce feels the man grow even tenser, something he thought impossible. 

“All rise.”

Tony’s movements are slow, like he’s on auto-pilot. And he probably is. If Bruce is nervous as hell, he can’t imagine what Tony must be going through. 

As he emerges, the Judge’s face gives nothing away. He doesn’t even need to bang his gravel to call the room to order – everybody seems to be holding their breath as they resume their seats. 

Wethers looks down at them. Gone is the loose tone he used during the hearing, replaced by a perfectly rehearsed statement that’s meant to be quotable to the very last syllable.

“When it comes to the practice of law, much of it relies on precedents. However, when there is no precedent, that is when law is shaped. Today is such an occasion.” Judge Wethers pauses. “This responsibility has been both an honor and a burden during the time I have been privileged to serve the State of New York. I have rarely felt its weight as heavily as in this case.”

Next to Bruce, Tony makes an annoyed sound. He empathizes – Judge Wethers is clearly milking this for all he can. 

“For my ruling will not merely affect the life of one minor, but that of all who follow in his wake. Not every one of them will be fortunate and catch the eye of an older man who is as far from a predator as one can be. In that, I have to look beyond the facts of the case to the future. I assure you, this was not an easy decision to reach.” 

Tony’s fingers are digging into his thighs, knuckles whitening. Bruce looks past him across the aisle to where Peter is sitting, unmoving, and staring at the Judge. 

“However,” Wethers continues, “it was the same diligence which I applied to this case that ultimately enabled me to pass judgment. For all the faith that I lack in the decency of other adults to respect the age of consent, I have the utmost confidence in my colleagues sharing the bench.”

Another pause. Then, finally… 

“I hereby grant the motion to dismiss the Order of Protection issued on behalf of Peter Parker in the case of New York vs. Stark. Court dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*sings*[The battle’s done, and we kinda won, so we sound our victory cheer… tell me… where do we from here?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XdAQpq_1Xw)_


	30. thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK! Thank you for your patience <3  
> Mental health, physical health (damn the flu season) and real life schedules have conspired against the boys and me. Also, it's Berlin Film Festival atm... and most of my writing time goes towards meeting my screenwriting deadlines... So I'm afraid the times of bi-weekly or weekly updates seem to be over?  
> But I can't justify rushing a chapter, so I hope the end results make up for the wait :D
> 
> Also ... WAKANDA FOREVER! 
> 
> *shuts up and finally lets you read*

_“I hereby grant the motion to dismiss the Order of Protection issued on behalf of Peter Parker in the case of New York vs. Stark. Court dismissed.”_

The court room releases a collective breath, Bruce included. He’s already smiling, as are Pepper and Colonel Rhodes behind him. 

Tony’s fingers have finally relaxed against his thighs and the relief radiating from him is palpable. 

On the other side of the room, MJ is typing at lightning speed. Peter’s other friend is cheering as Mrs. Parker gets to her feet too and pulls her nephew into a hug. The only word he can think of to describe Peter’s expression is ‘overwhelmed’. 

Behind Bruce, Ainsley begins conferring with Pepper while Mr. Kassell and ADA Torres approach the bench, presumably to deal with the paper work. Tony finally breaks out of his stupor, turning towards him and Colonel Rhodes in the row behind them with a brilliant smile. 

“The kid did it – he actually did it.”

“Go on,” Bruce says, nudging his friend, and Tony is on his feet immediately. 

Bruce watches Peter untangle himself from his aunt. He trips as he steps out into the aisle, as if he needed to be any more obvious about how nervous he is. Not that he’s the only one: Tony’s still fiddling with the buttons of his jacket when Bruce joins the crowd in the aisle. 

Tony and Peter eventually meet in the middle, coming to a stop in front of each other. They’re both positively vibrating with relief and nerves but are also painfully aware that they aren’t alone. 

“Uh, hi, um, hi Tony,” Peter eventually manages. 

“Hey, kid.” 

A moment passes where all they do is look at each other. Bruce has to bite his lip to keep himself from making any sound that would break the bubble surrounding them. 

“I meant it,” Tony says. “The date thing. I never got to take you out before but now, I can do that. If you want to, that is; doesn’t have to be now, though. Guess we don’t wanna make it too easy for the press,” he adds with half a smirk. “So… What’re doing tonight? Please say me.”

A beat. 

“ _Something with_ me. I really did not just make that joke, I got more class than that. Or did I? Course I did, who am I kidding. I’m owning it. That’s my joke now.”

Bruce can’t believe what he’s witnessing: Tony Stark, babbling. 

Judging by Peter’s loopy smile and the way the color is rising in his cheeks, he finds it more than endearing. “I’m, uh, I’m free tonight? For… something with you.”

“Awesome,” Tony says, and for some reason that has Peter grinning widely. 

Tony checks his watch. “It’s 3 PM… How does 6:30 sound?”

Peter nods. “Good. That’s… um, good. Where do I…?”

“I’ve got something planned, at the –”

“You planned –”

“I know, I know, jinxing it and all that, but hey, worked out just fine as far as I can tell.”

Peter ducks his head. 

“Come to the Tower. And use the front door; we don’t have to hide anymore.”

Peter’s enthusiastic nod is heart-warming. Mr. Kassell swoops in then to herd his client and his entourage outside – as well as score an interview with CNN or another major network, Bruce guesses – which leaves Tony alone with them. 

His façade slips a bit, exposing the bundle of nerves he’s hiding underneath his cheerful surface. Bruce is about to say something reassuring, yet Tony nips any such attempts in the bud by snapping his fingers at them. 

“Alright, Bruce, Rhodey, with me. We gotta find me the perfect outfit for tonight and something tells me I have nothing to wear.”

“Yeah, cause you forget half your wardrobe exists,” Rhodey says. 

Pepper coughs. “Does that mean I can return to running your company?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony says. His tone might be flippant but his expression is far from it. “Thank you,” he tells her. 

“Of course.” She hugs him briefly and proceeds out of the courtroom where Ainsley is already waiting for her.

*

“How about this?” Tony asks, holding up yet another suit jacket. “Too burgundy?”

“Too formal, Tones, you gonna listen to me already?” 

Rhodey snatches the hanger out of Tony’s grip and puts it back into the closet while Tony grumbles something. 

Bruce should have brought popcorn. 

Indeed, he has never enjoyed Tony-wrangling more in his time at the Tower. Helping him design a few riddles for the scavenger hunt last night was entertaining yet also somewhat dysfunctional. Watching Tony Stark freak out over what to wear on a first date has to be the most normal catastrophe he’s ever witnessed inside these four walls. 

Of course, given what he knows of Peter’s internal turmoil, there’s a bitter-sweet edge to all of this… There’s a real possibility that Bruce will find himself keeping a devastated genius away from the liquor cabinet later tonight. 

All the more reason to enjoy this – even though sitting inside a walk-in closet that’s about the size of Bruce’s own room was more than a bit awkward at first. 

“Now what’s wrong with that?” Tony protests, trying to wrestle the waistcoat back from his best friend. “Peter loves my waistcoats, so why shouldn’t I wear one, huh?”

“Cause this ain’t a freaking gourmet dinner, Tones. You’re running around your _house_ solving riddles. I’m putting my foot down – jeans. You’re gonna wear jeans.”

Tony crosses his arms. “Then I’m gonna wear _the_ jeans.”

“Fine!” Rhodey throws up his hands. 

Bruce cocks an eyebrow at them. “I take it these are a special pair?”

“Yeah, they make him look like a wanna-be rock star.”

“I resent the ‘wanna-be’ in that statement, Rhodey. _Variety_ called me the ‘rock star of science’ once.”

The pants make him look the part, too, Bruce has to admit. They’re tight and black, riding low on Tony’s hips and pre-ripped since who would ever wear them long enough for the wear and tear to come naturally? Moments like these make Bruce question whether saving humanity is actually worth it in the long run. 

Tony selects a tailored white shirt with an open collar to go with the jeans, then does a three-sixty and looks at them expectantly. 

Bruce has to admit, the clash of the formal shirt with ragged jeans is something he’s never seen on Tony before. Peter’s likely to recognize the effort Tony put into his outfit and appreciate it, and he says as much.

“Great,” Tony cheers, “exactly what I’m going for – I’ll hang these up for after the shower; go on, I’ll join you in the kitchen in a sec.”

Bruce and Rhodey exchange a look – what else could there possibly be left to do? – but do as commanded. They have ninety more minutes before Peter is due to arrive and, according to Rhodes, Tony will spend at least an hour in the bathroom. 

Another reason Bruce is glad he doesn’t date – too much hassle. 

“Alright, doc,” Tony announces upon his return, wearing sweatpants and a black tee, “hit me up.”

“With…?”

“Antibiotics.”

“So suddenly you’re okay to take them?” 

Tony grits his teeth. Okay, request to back off still in effect. 

“I’ll be right back,” Bruce assures him.

Once he is, Rhodey is nowhere to be seen – checking up on the preparations in the kitchen, according to Tony – so Bruce is the only one there when he places the small glass holding the pills in front of his friend on the kitchen island. 

Tony glares at them as if they’d personally affronted him. 

Bruce simply waits. 

With a sigh, Tony grabs a glass from the tray next to the fruit basket and pours some filtered water from the pitcher. He’s never seen anyone swallow pills with as much aggression. Knowing Tony, it’s mostly directed at himself for needing to take them in the first place. 

“Why do I do these things, Bruce?”

_Case in point._

“Which things would you be referring to, exactly?”

Tony gives him a flat look, as if to say, ‘Stop playing dumb’, and Bruce scrubs a hand over his face with a sigh. He has many answers on the tip of his tongue but he doubts mentioning Howard would help in this situation. 

So Bruce says, “Because you’re a fool in love.” 

With a groan, Tony tips his head back, closing his eyes. 

“And fools in love do stupid things,” Bruce continues. “Like forgive their partners when they make a mistake. Or accept challenges and hurdles on the way… Or face the spotlight, if it means they can be with the other person.”

“You’re not being very subtle,” Tony huffs without opening his eyes. 

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“How come you of all people are so fucking wise about this?”

Bruce smiles to himself. “The prerogative of an outside observer.”

Silence stretches between them. Whatever is going through Tony’s head right now causes his lips to press together and his forehead to crease. 

Bruce clears his throat, which thankfully pulls Tony out of what can only be a self- flagellating mental downward spiral and has him open his eyes again. 

“And as an outside observer,” Bruce says at length, just to ensure Tony won’t ever mistake this for a platitude, “I would bet my life’s work that you two will figure this out.”

And there it is – the glimmer of hope, once again visible in Tony’s expression. 

His friend doesn’t give a response apart from a jerky nod, but Bruce doesn’t need one. He’s done all he can. 

So he smiles, reaches out to squeeze Tony’s shoulder, and leaves his friend to it. 

*

When Peter returns to the flat’s living room, he finds his friends have multiplied. 

“Peter!” Bucky shouts, pulling him into a one-armed hug. He’s still in his uniform, as is Steve. “Congrats! Looking fine, man.”

“Uh, thanks…” 

He glances down his front. It’s a new shirt, red with a white geometric pattern and short sleeves. It’s a bit formal, but he’s also wearing jeans and bringing a zip hoodie that’ll help him remain incognito… hopefully. 

“He’s right,” Steve says. “Good choice.”

On the sofa, Ned bumps his fist against MJ’s shoulder with a “Told you so” that has her shaking her head in dismay. 

“Philistines.”

She wanted Peter to wear a jacket but he’d have just felt stilted and stiff all night which really wouldn’t help with all that’s going on inside his head. He can’t wait to finally be alone on the subway cause he’s had no time to just _think_ since the verdict. 

“Coffee?” he offers.

“Gawd yes.” Bucky throws himself onto the loveseat. “Those reporters are evil, Peter. Evil.”

“They weren’t so bad.” 

“Only cause you got the patience of a saint, Stevie.” 

It’s a relief that Peter is preoccupied with coffee and doesn’t have to react. Not that he’d know how – he’s jumping between ‘So what, it’s just the press’ and wishing for a new crisis to distract the vultures from circling Tony and him. 

“Everything okay?” 

Steve’s voice startles him a bit. Good that he’s bracing himself on the kitchen counter rather than holding anything breakable. 

“Sure,” Peter tries. “Fine.” 

As expected, Steve looks unimpressed. 

He deflates a little. “It’s… I, uh, I met Colonel Rhodes. And Pepper Potts.”

“You –”

“Shhh, they don’t know yet.”

Cause Peter can imagine how that would go: Ned would say something like ‘But it’s Tony Stark!’ on repeat, MJ would deliver a monologue on the pros and cons, and he’d be right back where he started. 

“Rhodey, he told me about Tony’s, well… His priorities. That I’ll never come first. And Mrs. Potts wants to coach me on PR stuff and be a plus one and there was something about couple selfies and…”

“And now you’re not sure if you want this or not?” Steve finishes after a beat. 

Peter nods miserably. Steve takes a deep breath, eyes darting towards the living room where Peter can hear Bucky, MJ and Ned’s heated discussion on an upcoming summer blockbuster in full swing. Steve seems to be weighing his words carefully.

Eventually, he says, “A few months ago, I’d have warned you off. People like Tony… They’re hard to be in love with. But you made it through that first scandal, and you made it through last week and you’re still standing. For fuck’s sake, Peter, you took on the District Attorney’s office over him. You can handle everything they throw at you… if that’s what you want to do.” 

Peter swallows. “But how? How do I know? Know that I want to, I mean? That it won’t be too hard?”

Steve regards him for a few long seconds. The coffee drips in the background. 

“Simple. If you love someone, nothing’s ever too hard. Sure, there’s gonna be hick-ups and fights and you’ll sleep on the couch a couple o’ nights, but… But when it gets tough, you’ll be there for each other. Bucky once spent a night at a motel cause we’d been fighting over…” Steve laughs. “I can’t even remember now. But when I gave him a shiner one night cause I’d had a nightmare, he… he made me tea and sat up with me all night.”

Peter’s first thought takes him back to a certain Friday when Tony texted him throughout the morning even though he was stuck in a meeting important enough for him to actually attend – all that only to distract Peter from how nervous he was about the Decathlon competition.

Steve seems to sense Peter’s still processing his words because he waits another moment to put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “See how the first date goes, alright? You’re allowed to take your time with this. Just…”

Steve pulls his hand back and runs it across his face. For a moment he looks older than he is. 

“Just don’t think you gotta figure this out on your own. You’re supposed to be a team now. Treat each other with honesty and respect, don’t… Just don’t shut him out.”

Peter’s never seen Steve look so rueful. 

“Got it,” he nods, ignoring the lump in his throat. “Honesty and respect.”

“Hey, Stevie, where’s my fucking coffee?”

Bucky’s shout effectively breaks both the moment, and the somber mood. Steve huffs, meets Peter’s eyes, and they’re both laughing. 

*

As reassuring as Steve’s words were and as nice as it was of May to be home early to see him off, by the time Peter reaches Stark Tower at 6:25 PM, his nerves have returned with a vengeance. 

He has his hood up and this is Manhattan, so no one spares him a second glance – at least at first. Peter doubts the same tactic is going to work on the journalists dotting the sidewalk near the main entrance. They’re not too obvious, really, trying to blend in with the tourists and business people, but their high-end cameras are dead giveaways. 

This is gonna be more complicated than Peter expected. 

Yeah, he could just use the back entrance but damn it, they’re allowed to see each other now, and Peter won’t go back to hiding. He’s too self-conscious to just strut into the Tower, though. 

His steps falter. This feels like a threshold, somehow. 

Peter scans Park Avenue since maybe something will spark an idea that could – oh, yes. There’s a musician on the other side of the street. 

“Excuse me, sir?” he asks. “Could you do me a favor?”

The trombone player actually recognizes him and breaks into a grin, and just like that Peter’s found a distraction that’ll draw the paparazzi’s attention away from the doors and towards the rude musician who just set up shop where they’re hoping to catch their big break. Peter sneaks behind their backs, unnoticed. 

Well, that was surprisingly easy.

Then the sight of the lobby hits him. It’s still as impressive with its high windows and clear design as it was at the press conference but Peter has never used the front doors before. The reception lies straight ahead, a few meters away from the large staircase that winds its way to the upper floors, creating a captivating visual. To the right, he can see the hallway that leads to the private elevators. 

Heart in his throat, Peter starts walking. One of the three security guards moves – probably about to ask him what the heck he’s doing here cause, oh, right, the hood is still hiding his face. 

The guard stands down as soon as he recognizes him and lets him continue to the elevator. There, he made it. 

It opens with a _dang_. 

Tony is already inside, leaning against the wall, and looking… just… _ngh_. 

“Hey kid. Come on, get in. No one ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

Peter closes his mouth and unfreezes his feet as JARVIS closes the door behind him. 

He always thinks Tony is attractive but today he’s on another level entirely. He’s wearing ripped jeans, though not the kind with stains and tears from sharp edges in the workshop. This pair is tight and wild, but the shirt’s crispy white. It also leaves little to the imagination, neither the arc reactor nor the definition of Tony’s arms. He has pulled up the sleeves and done something to his hair cause it looks even fluffier than usual and the open collar exposes some of his clavicle. Peter doesn’t know where he wants to touch first. 

Or maybe he should start with saying something. 

“You look,” he eventually manages, “uh, good. Very good.”

Tony’s grin pulls into a smirk. “Guess if this were a movie, I’d have gotten the slow-mo reveal?”

Peter can only nod in agreement. 

“For the record,” Tony says, “you look delicious yourself.”

His voice is low and smooth, just like Peter remembers. The compliment still makes him blush, though. 

For a moment all they do is, well, gaze at each other, there’s really no other word for it. Peter can’t say who makes the first move but next thing he knows they’re in each other’s space, moving in for a kiss. 

If Tony feels even half as horny as Peter, he’s hiding it really well – at first the press of his lips is soft, almost nothing more than the ghost of a breath. Peter matches his restraint, as difficult as it is. But it’s been a while, and there’s no adrenaline from almost dying fuelling their actions; finding back into a rhythm is proving a challenge. And granted, it’s Peter whose nose bumps against Tony’s, but it’s definitely Tony’s fault their teeth knock – 

“Stop thinking,” Tony growls, and Peter would point out the irony in that statement but then he’s pushed against the wall and Tony licks into his mouth and Peter loses himself in the surge of pleasure. 

They’re kissing like it’s somehow replaced breathing. And maybe it has, Peter wonders, cause there’s no way he could stop even if he wanted to. 

It’s desperate and raw, bodies pressing together hard enough to be felt through the layers of clothing, and Peter rolls his hips without consciously deciding to do so. 

Tony moans into the kiss and runs his hands down Peter’s back until they’re cupping his ass. There’s no pressure, just a warm presence, a silent ‘Don’t stop’ that shatters any inhibitions Peter might have had. 

He grabs Tony’s shoulders for leverage and starts slowly, insistently, until he’s sure he’s got a hold on coordinating the rhythm of their kiss and his hips. Tony clenches his hands at a particularly strong thrust and Peter’s breath stutters. Tony scrapes his teeth along Peter’s jaw, making him hiss, and sucks on his pulse point. Peter shudders and works a hand between their bodies. 

The buckle of Tony’s belt proves difficult for his shaking fingers, but Tony doesn’t rush him, merely keeps massaging his cheeks through the fabric of his pants.

“Can I,” Peter tries, but has to swallow since his mouth’s gone dry, “Can I jerk you off? Even though – I mean, the test…”

Tony’s eyes, at half-mast until now, open all the way. “Fuck, yeah, that, that’ll work, that’s genius.” 

It’s been months since Peter had his hands on Tony’s erection and he’s forgotten how erotic it feels, the velvety skin against his fingers and the pre-come on his thumb. What he could never forget, however, is which buttons he needs to push to get Tony all worked up, to make Tony throw his head back in a gasp, roll his hips and tell him, “Yeah, that’s it, _ngh_ , faster, c’m on, Peter…” until his hips still and he spills his release all over the elevator floor. 

Peter’s so hard by now it hurts and he – 

“Don’t,” Tony says, pushing himself off the pristine, dark wall and swaying a bit in his blissed-out state. “Gimme a sec.”

Peter focuses on his breathing, trying to ignore the sight that is Tony, still wearing shoes, white shirt hugging his chest and biceps, hurriedly pulling up the ripped jeans that were pooled around his ankles… 

… and then crowding Peter against the other wall. 

“Blow jobs are okay,” Tony whispers, “I checked.” 

He slides down Peter’s body, never breaking eye contact, and has his belt and jeans open in no time. Smirking, he frees Peter’s cock and licks the bead of pre-come off the tip. 

Peter has to dig his fingers into the wall behind him to keep from hurtling over the edge right then and there, but Tony clearly isn’t about to tease him today – not after months apart. 

Tony covers his teeth and sucks on the head, pulls back and takes him deeper and deeper until Peter hits the back of his throat and can’t hold back the moans any longer. He has no idea how soundproof the elevator is but _fuck, Tony’s mouth is warm and tight around his erection. On the next downstroke Tony doesn’t pull back, just keeps him there and swallows so Peter can feel the movement against his skin and that’s the final push he needs._

_Peter’s climax washes over him and leaves him slumped against the wall, feeling better than he has in months_. 

He’s missed this so much, from the smug grin Tony’s sporting as he rises to his feet to the lazy, post-coital kisses they exchange. 

“For the record,” Tony murmurs against his lips, “my plan wasn’t to defile an elevator with you. You distracted me.”

Peter laughs into their next kiss and they’d have probably spent the rest of the evening right there, making out in the elevator if it weren’t for – 

_Dang_

– the elevator doors opening. 

They’re one level below the penthouse and barely-audible _beep_ explains why. It comes from a cleaning robot whirling into the cubicle. 

Oh, right… dried bodily fluids on the floor. 

Tony lets go of Peter’s hip with a groan. “Come on, J, you coulda just cleaned this up later.”

“Postponing this task would have extended the time required to achieve the intended results, sir.”

“You got somewhere else to be, buddy?”

“No, sir, but I was under the impression that you do.”

“I don’t – ha, yes! I do!” And Tony’s smiling again, with an almost giddy air to it. “You ready, kid?” 

Peter has no idea what he’s agreeing to but in this moment he’d be ready for anything Tony suggested. 

*

Tony spent most of the time Bruce used to devise riddles and challenges for the scavenger hunt going back and forth about whether or not Peter would actually like it. 

“He’s gonna think it’s juvenile, Bruce, he’ll hate it but he won’t say anything cause he’s too nice for that and I’m not gonna notice until it’s too late and the night’s ruined and –”

But he needn’t have worried. 

The kid loves the scavenger hunt. Even declares it “awesome” and all of Tony’s insecurity about his idea evaporates on the spot. 

What’s more, they’re even able to focus thanks to their activities. Yeah, okay, a quickie in the elevator probably goes against the spirit of a first date, but screw whoever decided these things in the first place along with the stupid high horse they rode in on. It all began with the physical aspect of it all, so it’s probably rather fitting that their first date goes along the same lines. 

Not so fitting, however, is how epically they fail at solving algebraic equations in their heads. 

“What, no, x can’t equal 2.45,” Tony grouses, “there’s no floor 245, or two and three quarters, what the fuck?” 

That’s what you get for asking Bruce to give you a challenge. 

It takes another three minutes of trying to solve it without writing it down, JARVIS revealing that he’s not allowed to project a hologram or aid them in any way, Peter joking that he should have brought his backpack after all, and Tony calling Bruce a few choice words before they discover the loose panel above the elevator buttons. 

“Okay, we have two non-permanent markers,” Tony announces, handing one to the kid with a competitive grin. “First one to solve it gets a kiss.”

Tony mentally pats himself on the back for that one cause even though he beats Peter to writing ‘x = 8’ on his half of the mirror, they both win. 

JARVIS even slows down the elevator as they descend to the eighth floor, cause yeah, J knows how to make him happy. 

*

“Welcome to the jungle!” 

Tony walks backwards down the corridor, the labs of Stark Agriculture to his left, the newly installed greenhouse to his right, Peter following with wide eyes. 

“Well, I don’t really think the nickname’s all that deserved, a few square feet are nothing, especially compared to what we’re planning for our facility in the Midwest – now that’s gonna be a jungle alright.”

Peter’s not smiling, though. He’s got that clenched-jaw look he gets when there’s something that bugs him but he’s too polite or timid to speak up, but why would he – oh shit, right, it’s not public knowledge yet. 

Tony’s pulse spikes. What if Peter thinks it’s – no, he wouldn’t. It was his idea in the first place, and he’ll… Tony shakes his head. Clears his throat. 

“Look here, kid.” 

Peter steps up to the glass of the greenhouse, taking in the plants that are in full bloom. His expression softens into a smile. “Did you bring me flowers?”

“Even better. Those can be replanted.”

“Huh?”

Tony nods towards the rows of crops. “All of them. No more plants that produce sterile seeds. It’s why those three board members quit. Well, when I say ‘quit’ I mean I turned them on their asses cause they couldn’t get behind the move. We’re working on new pesticides, too. No use to anyone if those we produce only work for a couple o’ years before the bacteria and whatever have grown resistant and we gotta come up with something new. Horrible waste of time, that.”

Peter’s staring at him now, eyes wide. Tony bites his lip. 

“You’ve… that’s – that’s… wow.”

There it is. The ‘you’re doing good’ look, the official Peter Parker seal of approval. Tony didn’t realize how much he’s been craving this until he finds himself on the receiving end of it. 

Damn, he can’t wait till they’re in the workshop. 

Before that, though, there are a few more challenges to fulfill. They find the next clue in the form of a seed trail – projected onto the ground, not real, cause that’d be a pain in the ass to clean up – which leads them into the stairwell. 

“Come on,” Tony says, and chases down the stairs. Peter’s at his heels, then in front of him, that sneaky little fucker, _just you wait, kid_ – 

“Woah!” 

They almost topple into the grid of laser beams spanning the next flight of stairs which they have to go down according to the seed trail. It’s like something straight out of an action flick. 

“Rhodey’s work, I guess. Shit, when did he do this? Anyway, let’s see… You should go first.”

“Uh, yeah, um, makes sense, gymnastics and all…”

“Sure, that too… but frankly I just wanna enjoy the view,” Tony says. 

The blush that draws is rewarding. Peter complies but keeps almost bumping into laser beams from chuckling so hard every time he catches Tony looking at his ass. Which is constantly. By the time they clear the maze, they’re both a sweating, laughing mess and Tony so owes Rhodey a bro hug for this. 

“What’s through here?” Peter’s pointing at the exit door, marked by one last seed. 

Tony checks the large number painted on the wall next to it and pushes the door open. 

“This, kid,” he says, “is the kitchen.”

*

Packing a picnic basked in the huge company kitchen was Bruce’s idea, but Tony claims full credit for taking the elevator up to its last stop: the rooftop terrace. 

Perfect timing, too, cause they arrive at the top of the building with forty-five minutes to sunset. The sky above Manhattan is painted in streaks of gold and red, reflecting off the handful of buildings as tall as Stark Tower. 

Tony doesn’t see much of it, though, since watching Peter take in the view is distracting as hell. 

Fuck, he’s so far gone it’s not even funny anymore. 

Next up would be a trip down to R&D, dazzle Peter with prototypes of upcoming releases, holography technologies of the next generation that will make SI a shitload of money via games but have a lot more use for taking educational opportunities to regions that don’t even have wifi. 

And then he’d planned on impressing Peter with his piloting skills in the flight simulator and hint at his plans for the launch of Stark Airlines, a move that will revolutionize the aviation industry… 

But now, watching Peter stumbling through anything he tries to say cause he keeps getting distracted by the view, the last rays of sunlight lighting up his eyes, Tony decides to just scrap it. All it would really be is showing off, a way to boost his ego, which in the end isn’t gonna matter since the only thing he really wants the kid to see is in the workshop. 

So he says, “Time for the next stop,” once they’ve polished off the food and the sky is too dark to be pretty and leads Peter back down to the private elevator. They pop the basket into the kitchen real quick and then the moment's here, they’re seconds away from entering the workshop. 

Peter keeps darting him curious glances, obviously surprised they didn’t check the kitchen for a new clue, but thankfully happy to go along with it. Granted, he opens his mouth a couple of times as if to say something, though he’s been doing that since the initial awe wore off on the roof... 

Is he gearing up for something? Something of the Talk variety, capital letter and all?

Whatever it is, Tony can’t worry about it right now cause the elevator doors open and then they’re in the anteroom to the workshop. Peter makes a soft sound at the sight. Tony feels it, too. It’s been too long since they’ve been down here together. 

“I wanna show you something. Come on, kid.”

The mechanics are easy. One foot in front of the other, enter the workshop, cross the room, head for the Audi, pop the hood open... and yet Tony’s heart is hammering against his rib cage and his mouth is dry as sandpaper. 

He’s dimmed the glow to make the models less of a target for car jackings. It’s impossible to access the arc reactor if you’re not in possession of one of the authorized tools, all of which are going to be chipped and registered, but better safe than sorry, right? Anyway, the glow takes longer to register, so a few seconds pass before understanding dawns on Peter. 

“Tony, is that - does that mean you... is that a, a, an arc reactor car engine?!”

“Yup. Still trying to come up with a better name though; I was thinking Proof That Tony Stark Is The Fucking Best but somehow Branding disapproves. You can look, by the way, ain’t gonna bite you... which would be a neat security measure, huh... JARVIS, take a note of that.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Peter shakes the hesitant air and approaches the car with more confidence then, leaning forward to inspect how it all fits together. 

Tony wonders what he sees, what jumps out at him, whether he thinks the cables are too flashy or the reactor casing too stylized. It’s taken eighteen months for him to get to this point and he’s hella proud of it, sure, but nothing is ever perfect, is it?

“This is... I can’t even – oh my gawd, this is awesome! I’ve got so many questions – if you, um, if you can answer them, but it’s fine if you can’t, I mean why wouldn’t it be fine, right, uh...” Even Peter has to stop for breath eventually, though, and Tony seizes the pause to hold up a hand. 

“There’s more. Hold on... J, pull up the blueprints for the – yup, that’s the one, thanks, buddy. Here.” 

Tony zooms out of the hologram Jarvis supplied until Peter, too, can see what it’s depicting: a fully-automated assembly line, putting together an arc-reactor powered engine with minimal waste and at very low cost. 

“I’ll keep overseeing the element production but we’re gonna crank up the output considerably. I’m flying to Germany next week to hash out the details but it’s already a done deal, more or less.” Tony grins. “The revolution can begin.”

“Wow... Uh, but, um... How much is one of the cars going to cost?”

Tony’s grin morphs into a smirk. “I’m glad you asked, kid. Cause all this,” he indicated the hologram, “is so that we can sell the arc reactor engines at manufacturing cost. It’s not supposed to generate revenue; we got the new Stark Airlines for that. Legal’s actually drawing up the forms for a not-for-profit subsidiary as we speak – okay, maybe not _literally_ as we speak. I guess they’re ambitious but even they go home at some point on a Friday night. Yet that’s the plan. Once the news of the low price drops, all other car manufacturers are gonna beg to join the new age... exponential growth, yada yada yada, and five years later, voila! We got monopoly and the tons of greenhouse emissions from the automobile industry are gonna be down by, wait, what’s the number?”

“Twenty-two per cent, sir.” 

“Twenty-two percent. And while all that’s going on it’ll be a piece of cake to convince every major city to turn to me when it’s time to restructure their power grids and add some arc reactors. Well, when I say some, I mean a shitload of them. Norway’s already commissioned thirty-seven and the not-for-profit’s not even a thing yet... So... whaddoya say, kid?”

Tony has never felt so vulnerable in his life. He’s standing there, arms spread, feigning one of his cockiest grins, basically stripping down to his bones in front of Peter who’s obviously realized by now that this is exactly what he’s been championing Tony to do all along. He doesn’t even need to mention he’s thinking of including Peters surname in the non-profit company’s name.

Tony waits. 

_Damn…_ Of all the times for the kid to lose his voice, why the hell does it have to be now? 

“You’re...” Peter eventually manages, but shit, now his eyes are tearing up. This wasn’t the plan. “You’re, uh, you’re really gonna...”

Tony shrugs. “Turns out, it’s, well, not exactly easy but not nearly as impossible as I figured... I just gotta apply myself more, is all.”

He chose the words carefully, aware of the weight they will carry. It’s the closest thing Tony guesses he’ll ever come to straight-out saying that Peter was right, even if they spend the rest of their lives together.

And Peter clearly gets it, he does, but why the hell isn’t he saying anything?

*

It’s at the tip of his tongue. 

Peter’s never been closer to saying those three words to Tony’s face and he never would have meant them more than in this very moment. 

But if he says them now, Tony might say them back and then it’ll be impossible to say all the other things, ask the questions they need to discuss and... and Peter doesn’t want to start their second chance on negligence. 

He swallows around the lump in his throat. “That’s the best thing you’ve ever done, Tony,” he says, aware that his smile is watery. “This will help so many people, it’s, it’s truly awesome.” 

Tony waits. “But?”

“No butts,” Peter says, almost out of reflex. 

Tony’s expression morphs into something indescribable, a swirl of emotions Peter almost lets himself get sucked into but no, he can’t, he’s got to... or does he? That Tony would… it’s just… it’s incredible and awesome and if Peter doesn’t kiss him right now he’ll regret it for the rest of his life. 

So he does, pouring everything he can’t possibly say out loud into the kiss. It obviously takes Tony by surprise, the fierceness of it, but he soon melts into their movements – like a huge weight’s been lifted off his shoulders, somehow. 

Peter only pulls back when Tony bumps into something and he remembers that wait, there’s… He’s been meaning to talk about – 

“What’s that?” he blurts instead, pointing at the desk Tony’s leaning against. 

That ball of white adhesive looks like… 

“Your project,” Tony says. “What, did you really think I’d touch another scientist’s work? Pffft.”

Peter gapes – it’s all still there, exactly as he left it. The pens he took out of his backpack and subsequently missed in class; the blank SI notebooks Tony shoved at him to keep him from snagging pages out of Tony’s… 

He looks up to find him… blushing? Because he kept Peter’s station?

He’s never loved this man more than in this very moment. Damn, why do they need to talk anyway? It’s only messy and complicated and Peter wants easy and happy – he wants the bubble back and if that’s selfish, then so be it. Peter’s earned the right to be selfish for once in his life, hasn’t he?

Yes, he has, Peter decides, and pushes Tony back against the workstation. A few pens rattle from the impact. Peter swallows Tony’s surprised “Oomph” immediately with his lips. 

Peter lets his hands roam, from Tony’s strong shoulders down defined arms, places them on hips to caress the skin through the fabric of the white shirt. Unbuttoning it while keeping up the kiss is still a challenge but Peter manages, one button at a time. He wants to get his tongue on Tony – on all of him, and he said blowjobs were okay… 

He palms Tony through his pants until the man throws his had back on a gasp and Peter seizes the chance, licks a path down his throat, kisses the skin above the arc reactor, plays with a nipple long enough to remember that oh, right, they’re not sensitive anymore, not after the shrapnel… 

Peter continues downward, which means removing his hand from Tony’s groin, and draws a whine – but the sound trails off when Peter’s knees hit the floor and his fingers move on to his belt. 

A hand stops him. Peter looks up – he’s not prepared for the pained expression he finds. 

“Shit, Tony, am I, am I hurting you? I don’t – I’m sorry, you said this, uh, this is okay?”

Tony can’t meet his eyes for some reason. A sinking feeling pools in Peter’s stomach. 

“Yeah, kid… for me. Never said anything about the other way around.”

“Wha– Why?”

A beat. 

“I got tested.”

“And?”

“I’m already taking antibiotics, alright, so it’ll clear up soon and it’s not a big deal –“

“Tony.” Peter rises to his feet cause he feels ridiculous, still kneeling on the floor.

Tony huffs. Runs a hand through his hair. Then, finally, meets Peter’s eyes. 

“I have chlamydia. Like I said, no big deal, a course of the good stuff and it’s all gone again. Blowing you’s not putting you at risk but the other way around would be, and kid, as much as I want your mouth on me right now I really, really don’t wanna infect you.”

“Then why,” Peter starts, a vicious edge to his tone even though he’s not sure how he’d have finished the question before the rest gets lost in another wave of hurt and disappointment.

It must be obvious on his face cause Tony reaches out. 

Peter takes a step back. 

“Kid…”

He holds up a hand. Tony falls silent immediately. 

Gawd, how could Peter have been this naïve? A quickie in the workshop, just another hour inside the bubble, and then what? Their bubble’s gone, it burst the second Toomes took that damn video. There’s no going back. No more deluding themselves. 

“Tony,” Peter begins, squaring his shoulders. “We… There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“What, ‘honey, we need to talk’?” Tony sneers. 

His face falls when he sees the Peter’s expression. 

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...... special thanks to merlenhiver for enabling my fondness of cliffhangers =) 
> 
> **Quick PSA:** While performing oral sex when infected with chlamydia bears very little risk of transmitting the disease according to my research... please don't. Tony is not the best role model in this regard. Be safe, folks!


	31. thirty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asdfghjkl... I try not to look at numbers too much, but HOLY F***, 2000+ kudos as a WIP?! That's awesome! THANK YOU ALL ♥♥♥ (coincidentally, it was a great confidence boost as I was about to finally [cut off my hair](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bf1E86aHzkN/?taken-by=jays.lair) xD)
> 
> There is NEW ART - the wonderful 1r0n5p1d3r on tumblr has made a collage! [Check it out here](https://1r0n5p1d3r.tumblr.com/post/171264026629/raising-hybrid-puppies-by-jayez-on-ao3rating) =)
> 
> Now, drum roll please... 
> 
> ... the chapter we've all been waiting for!

All air seems to have gone out of the room. Tony swallows. 

“Well,” he says, without inflection. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Peter looks at him for a moment as if announcing they need to talk and actually _talking_ are two entirely separate things in his head, but all too soon he clears his throat and says something about Rhodey and Pepper and the two of them raising some issues and Bruce urging him to be honest. 

It all pours out of him with flailing gestures and wide eyes filled with insecurity cause “we’ve never talked about any of this, right, and we, uh, we’ve been living in a bubble, and I don’t… I mean, it’s burst now and I don’t know how it’ll all be if we keep going out and I never really thought about any of that until they, uh, until they brought it up.”

While part of Tony is incredibly touched his friends went to this length to ensure Peter and he knew what they were doing this time around – cause who’s he kidding, if Tony had any say no one in the world would have to spend more time than strictly necessary thinking about official photos and joint statements… 

So yeah, he’s touched but also really pissed off cause, “Where do they get off, ambushing you like that?”

“Yeah, that was, uh…”

“Shitty, that’s what it was,” Tony says. “They had no right –”

“Um,” Peter says and Tony pauses long enough to let him finish. “They sorta had a point, didn’t they?”

On second thought, he shouldn’t have. So the kid agrees with them? What the fuck. 

“Sorta my ass,” Tony snarls. “Okay, kid, sure – let’s talk about the many, many faults of Anthony Howard Stark, shall we?” 

Peter makes to speak but Tony’s done listening. If this is the kid saying he figured out being with Tony’s too much for him now that they’re out in the open, he’s not gonna just roll over and take it. 

“Not the classics, though, oh no – everyone knows he’s an arrogant son of a bitch who drinks like a fish. Let’s talk about how he stays up for days to finish some scrap of metal. Never mind it’s gonna stop global warming one day, nah, why look at the big picture if we can fault him for how fucking useless he is at taking care of himself, huh? And oh, his aversion to PR is truly legendary, seriously, he’d rather design shit that’s gonna _do something_ than dance for the greedy little blood suckers from the press corps, how dare he be so selfish with his time! He’s a genius right, so he’s gotta be perfect but he’s not living up to our fucking expectations, just like he never did to Howard’s. Always out drinking and messing around, that selfish little shit –“

“You’re not selfish!” Peter shouts, forceful enough to stop Tony in his tracks. “Everyone always acts like you are but you’re not. I know you’re not, no matter what your friends said.” 

_Okay, that… doesn’t quite sound like the prelude to a breakup._

“You’d never cancel an important meeting – like, really important – just to jet off to somewhere,” Peter continues. “Well, not anymore, at least… but that’s what counts. That’s the only you I know.”

Tony blinks. “And you’re fine with that? Plus the long hours? Cause you had a point - or sort-of-a-point – and it ain’t gonna be easy. With the all-nighters and business trips and ignoring the world when I’m on a project and all that.”

“Uh, that’s what I l-like about you. Anybody else, they’d work the minimum requirement and only until they have enough so they can retire but you…” Peter stops, apparently grasping for a better way to express himself cause Tony’s not truly buying it and he’s past not letting it show. 

“I, I heard you once,” Peter continues, voice soft. “You were talking to Dummy, I think? You said something about ‘peace in our time’ and… and I know you’re never gonna stop until you make that a reality.” 

Tony remembers that. It’s become a mantra to him, almost, spoken out loud whenever he needs a reminder of why the fuck he’s doing all this. 

So he waits for the inevitable blow, the rejection that always comes at this point. He has an entire lifetime of practice bracing himself for this moment so it’s not even difficult to pull up his walls. 

But that’s not what Peter does. Once again the kid takes Tony’s expectations and smashes them into a million tiny pieces. 

“And I get it – the world needs you to put it first. It’s gotta be your first priority. And Stark Industries has to come second cause you’re never gonna manage world peace by yourself… So if I’m third on your list, or, uh, or forth because – well, Mrs. Potts and Colonel Rhodes, they’ve known you a lot longer – so if I’m fourth on your list… that’s awesome, alright, cause being fourth on your list is better than being first on anyone else’s cause they won’t be you.”

Peter smiles at him with a conviction Tony’s never seen in him. 

“I’d take the top ten, too,” the kid adds, his voice stronger this time. “Cause this is you and no matter what happens or how difficult it’s going to be, or how much coaching I’ll need to be a good plus one – it’ll be worth it.” Peter takes a deep breath and looks Tony straight in the eye. “You’re worth all of it.”

And Tony… stares. 

_‘You’re worth all of it.’_

The last phrase echoes in his head, from one corner to the other and then jumps right into Tony’s chest where he’s putting it into a reinforced box and never letting anything take it away. 

“That’s… that’s gotta be the…” He trails off. Tries again. “I… _Jesus_ , kid…”

And he hurt Peter. He hurt him – _fuck_ , what the hell was he thinking? 

Tony draws a wet breath, blinking hard, and steps closer to Peter. For a moment he just looks at him, this marvel, this awesome young man who took on the DA, who stood up to his aunt for him, who’s willing to get a PR briefing – who’d probably do just about anything for him… 

Except buy into Tony’s bullshit, or be impressed by his wealth, or praise him for ecologically and socially unsound business decisions. Who’s looked him straight in the eye and said he’s okay with not coming in first cause he, yeah, he loves him. This stupid kid actually… Well, sure, Tony knew it on a vague level but he’s never felt it like this, that this is the ‘I accept you in your entirety’ type of love, not the ‘I love you enough to suffer for a while’ kind that Pepper had going and – 

“T-Tony? Uh… say something?”

“Oh.” He shakes himself out of his spiraling thoughts. “I…” He takes a deep breath. “I shoulda said this sooner, a hell of a lot sooner, kid, and I rarely do this, so you better listen. You listening? Good.” Tony hesitates and why the fuck is this so hard? “Cause… I’m sorry. There, I said it. I’m sorry for sleeping around and –”

“We weren’t even –”

“Yeah, but if I’da thought for just one fucking second about how you’d feel about it once we were again, I’d have known you’d be hurt and I never wanted to hurt you, kid, I don’t. So I’m sorry.”

Peter’s expression confirms that he really needed to hear him say that. 

“And,” Tony continues, “for the record?”

He steps closer. They’re in each other’s space now, breathing the same air. 

“You’re priority number two. Stark Industries and peace and all that jazz, they’re really all one big blob at the top… And then there’s you.”

“But –”

“No buts.” Tony smiles. “For real, though. Pepper’s got Happy and Rhodey’s got his service, and…” He has to swallow again. This is scary as fuck but damn it, Peter’s worth it, too. “And I don’t know how you did it but you’re the most important person in my life. And you understand that you’d never… It’s my life’s work, my _raison d’être_ or whatever, and no one could ever –”

“I’d never want to, Tony,” Peter says. “I want you. The way you are.”

“R-right back at you, kid.” Why’s his voice breaking up? “From your socialist views on workers rights to your awful Spanish –”

“Hey, I’ve gotten much better!” Peter protests. 

“You’ll have to prove that. We’re due for a holiday, wouldn’t you say? I’m taking you to Spain. Or the Caribbean, it’s been a while since I’ve been that close to the Equator.”

“Uh…”

“Right, expensive, yada yada yada,” Tony says with a wave of his hand. “But Peter, you’re dating a billionaire now. You gotta allow me a few things, okay? I’ll start small, let you grow used to it.”

“Oh, okay…” He doesn’t sound convinced. He’ll get there, one day. “What about, you know… PR? Plus ones?”

Tony feigns a shudder. “Ugh… But no, you’ll have fun. I’ll tell Remy and McKenna to keep it short cause you’re smart and actually a socially competent human being; you’ll get the gist. Hey, and as a plus one you can keep me from bailing too early and most events are some sort of charity anyway, you’re gonna love those. Maybe not the big ass ceremonies. Oh, and science symposiums! They always invite me to be a keynote speaker and I barely ever agree to but hey, with you there they could be fun! I’m just gonna let JARVIS run them by you first and agree to those you wanna attend.”

Tony can picture it perfectly: sharing a hotel room, showing off in front of a room full of intelligent people, Peter chief amongst them, soaking it all up like the eager puppy that he is when it comes to the natural sciences.

Peter, apparently, can picture it, too, only he’s clearly getting overwhelmed. 

So Tony hurries to say, “If it gets too much, we can have a signal, right – like a safe word! And we’ll leave or stop ASAP, okay?”

Peter gives a slow nod, eyes wide. 

“So…” Tony loops his fingers through the hoops of Peter’s belt, drawing him even closer. “Last question: boyfriend or partner?”

“Huh?”

“What are we now? Boyfriends or partners? Important decision, kid.”

It’s wonderful to get to witness Peter’s expression change from confusion to sheer, unadulterated happiness as the implications of the last few minutes finally hit him. 

“I don’t care as long as I’m with you.”

Tony can get behind that sentiment. “Well, there’s no getting rid of me now, kid. We’re dating now.” He smirks. “We’re like, _official_.” 

“Awesome,” Peter says, and kisses him. 

*

“Hello, sir, what can I get you?” Peter hears Zinha ask over his shoulder as he puts the finishing touches to a single father’s latte art. 

“Hm,” comes the reply that sounds very much like – “I’d like one Peter Parker to go.” 

He whips around, milk jug and all, and sure enough there’s Tony, peering at him over the edge of his sunglasses. 

It’s Sunday, and hot to boot, which has Zinha playing _‘Summer in The City’_ on repeat over the first floor’s speaker system. Tony looks captivating in slacks and a simple T-shirt.

Zinha’s finger snaps in front of Peter’s face then, much to Tony’s amusement. 

“Uh, Tony, hi, it’s, uh –“ 

“Surprise!” the other man – no, his _partner_ , his actual partner since thirty-six hours and forty-one minutes ago (but who’s counting) – says with a grin. And if anyone on the first floor hasn’t realized yet that Tony Stark is here, they definitely will now. 

… and so what? Peter’s been feeling like he’s floating and no matter how pointed the stares or remarks from customers get, he feels like they simply can’t touch him right now. Still, Tony has the worst timing cause – 

“Don’t look so rueful, kid,” Tony continues, as if reading his mind. “I know you ain’t done yet. Just needed a break and thought to myself, hey, why don’t I make use of how conveniently close my boyfriend’s place of employ is to my home and get myself some delicious fuel for the afternoon.”

“We have a ‘no sex in the bathrooms’ policy at _The Hybrid Puppy_ , Mr. Stark,” Zinha snarks, making Peter splutter and another person clear his throat – oh, right, the single father’s still waiting for his drink. 

“Oh, yes, oh my god, I’m so sorry, sir,” Peter stammers and hands over the mug. “If it’s, uh, if it’s cooled down too much please let me know and I’ll get you a fresh one.”

“Ta,” the man says and off he is, baby still slumbering against his chest. 

“Now can I have some of this great customer service?” Tony props his hip against the counter. 

Peter is about to reply but just then, a group of very familiar people appear on the stairs. Did Tony know? Well, Peter sorta mentioned it last night on their second date – tinkering in the workshop with Peter bringing takeout and feeling very giddy and grown-up about it – but Tony didn’t react to it, as far as he can recall. 

Anyway, now the Neighborhood Avengers have materialized on the first floor and because the universe still isn’t fully on Peter’s side, MJ overheard Tony’s last remark. 

“You can bribe your bf’s friends by buying a round of drinks and snacks, Mr. Stark.”

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “It shall be my pleasure, Miss Williams. Hey, Han. Officers… and people I don’t know but who look vaguely familiar. Wait, why does your husband look like he just came back from church?” 

The question is directed at Bucky but it’s Steve who answers. “That’s cause I did. You should join us, sometime.”

“And burst into flames the second I set a foot in that place? Nope, still mourning the suit I lost at Pepper’s wedding. You ain’t getting rid of me so easily, Rogers,” he adds with a wink. 

“Nah, the little punk’s just really worried about your soul,” Bucky explains. 

“Don’t we got a meeting to get started?” 

Everyone looks to Sam, who’s the only one who’s not neutral about this, Peter notices. Even Clint and Natasha seem okay with Tony’s presence, but the counselor… Well, Sam’s a reasonable guy at any rate so it’s not like they have to worry about imminent trouble. 

“Your usuals?” Peter asks the group and receives nods all around. 

Zinha’s already moving. “I’ll get the snacks.” 

“And I the bill,” Tony adds, earning a cheer from Bucky and Ned, a satisfied smirk from MJ and an eye-roll from Steve. 

“Need any help, kid?” Tony offers once all Avengers have moved towards the back where they’re setting up a partition to give them some semblance of privacy. The break room’s too small and the ground floor is perpetually over-crowded, so that’s the best solution. 

Peter smiles. “I got it.”

But he does make Tony carry the first tray of drinks to the group and accepts the second plate of sandwiches off Zinha. Unsurprisingly, Tony manages to carry the tray with more grace than Peter’s ever gonna be capable of, and with the kind of confidence it took him months to acquire. 

“No idea whose is what,” Tony says as he sets the tray down. “Yeah, sure, the kid said but they all look the same.”

“Peter, you gotta train your boyfriend better,” Bucky teases. He grabs his drink with a wink. 

Peter takes the tray back with him and then brings the rest, simple coffee for Tony and Natasha, one with too much sugar for Clint, and a water for Peter cause if he adds caffeine to his hyphed system he’s gonna scale the walls. 

“What’s he doing here?” Sam’s giving Tony a dark look. Tony’s pulled up a chair next to Peter and was about to try the current Blend of the Month but gives a shrug instead. 

“This is a big part of Peter’s life. Figured I might as well check it out. I promise I’ll shut up and let you do your Avenging. Or planning, cause the Avenging happens later, right? Helping old ladies, doing groceries and teaching how to open PDFs and stuff…”

“And we’re constantly low on funds,” MJ says, then smirks at Peter’s noise of protest. 

“We don’t need no sponsors,” Sam says before either of them can reply. “We got our website, we got our network. And I got a VA meeting after this, so what’s the down low for the next two weeks?”

Tony mimes zipping his mouth shut but oh boy, Peter knows that glint in his eyes and this topic isn’t over. Sure enough, Tony pulls out his phone a minute later and starts drawing schematics underneath the table as though his leg touching Peter’s wasn’t distracting enough already. 

Half an hour later, sandwiches devoured and tasks distributed amongst them, they start packing up. Clint spots someone behind Peter and waves. 

“Yup, back here!”

It’s Phil Coulson, peering around the partition. He’s been by a few times to pick up more coffee for his office and himself, always wearing a suit, and today is no exception. His only concession to the heat is the lack of tie. 

“Ah, good, Mr. Parker,” Coulson says. “I’m here for my order.”

Peter’s on his feet immediately, which seems to pull Tony out of his trance unlike the agent’s voice. If Coulson is surprised to see Tony sitting there, he doesn’t show it, but Tony plays up his shock for both of them anyway. 

“Agent, wow – wait, so the tie isn’t part of your exterior? Did the mothership need it back?”

“I’m off duty, Mr. Stark.” 

“And what does a pencil pusher do in his time off?” 

“Laser tag!” Clint shouts, which is the last thing Peter hears before slipping into the back of house to fetch the five bags of Stucky blend that’s really become a best seller for them. 

“I think we broke your boyfriend,” Clint says when he returns, cause Tony’s fake-gaping at Coulson with a hand clutching his chest. “Or he’s imagining the porno version of Nat, Phil and I teaming up at Outdoor Laser Tag.”

“Uh,” is all Peter manages, cause _hello mental images_.

Laughing hard, Clint pats him on the back and follows his partners to the front where Zinha’s already ringing up Coulson’s purchase. 

“And he congratulated Tony!” Ned says. “About Friday! You got the FBI seal of approval, man!”

MJ sighs. “He made a point of saying he’s off duty, Leeds. If you stopped drooling over Stark’s phone you’d have heard it, too.”

“But it’s got the new sensors! And I’m sure it’s capable of holographic projections, right? Right, Peter?”

His nod leads to more gushing, which leads to Tony handing over his phone to Ned for what’s probably the most blissful minutes of his friend’s entire summer, and which in turn makes something warm and fuzzy unfurl inside Peter’s chest.

“Ugh, I’m outta here before I get my first cavity. Later, losers.”

On her way out, MJ passes by Sam, Steve and Bucky as they finish folding the partitions and Sam quickly follows her out without another glance back. Peter bites his lip. Sure, Sam’s always been vocal about his views on how Tony shutting down the weapon production at Stark Industries impacted GIs but… can’t he just be happy for a friend? 

He’s not the only one watching Sam leave; Steve’s brow is furrowed in concern. At Peter’s questioning gaze, he returns to the back.

“You gotta cut him some slack, Peter. It’s been a hard couple of days.”

“Oh? Did something –”

“Not to him,” Steve says. “But, well… One of his patients at the VA is in hospital. Probably an overdose. Sam had no idea she’d started using again.”

Peter’s annoyance evaporates on the spot. 

“She’s one of the vets who lost their jobs in security to SI drones and robotics, so… I guess Tony’s gonna be a touchy subject for Sam for a while.”

"He’ll come around eventually,” Bucky cuts in then, bumping a fist against Steve’s shoulder. “This fella did, too.”

“He sure did.” Tony winds an arm around Peter. Without the partition, they’re the center of attention again. Peter tenses, but Tony’s hand is a grounding pressure on his hip. “Still not entirely sure how I pulled that off, but hey, gift horse and all that.”

“That’s cause Stevie here’s a giant marshmallow.”

“Who of us faked a mission to get me up on that tower in Jalalabad so he could propose at sunset?”

Peter didn’t think Bucky could blush, but he definitely can. He shoves Steve playfully with a grumbled, “Worked, didn’t it,” over the cooing noises Tony’s making. Peter tries not to laugh but it’s a losing battle – until Bucky suddenly perks up. 

“Ha! You know what we can do now?” He pulls out his phone with an almost manic grin. “A couples selfie! C’m on, Peter, you and your guy, me and mine, it’s gonna be epic! The internet’s gonna love it!”

“Uh,” Peter hesitates, looking to Tony. “What about, you know…?”

Tony considers for a moment, then shrugs. “Yeah, let’s go for it. I’m in, if you want. McKenna and Remy aren’t gonna mind.”

*

They do mind. 

They mind very much. 

So much, in fact, that they are calling Tony two minutes after Bucky posted the picture of the four of them and order him to come in immediately, judging by the side of the conversation Peter can hear.

“How are you even at the office?” Tony says. “It’s Sunday.”

Whatever the person on the line says has Tony turn to Peter with a wince. “Say we gotta attend an impromptu meeting with Remy…”

“I – I’m sorry, my shift, it’s –”

“It’s fine, kid. After your shift’s fine. “

“I finish at two?”

“Great. Remy,” Tony says into the phone. “We’ll be there at 2:30. While we’re at it, what’s the status on the Germany trip?”

As Tony steps away, Peter gulps. Bucky is scrolling through something with a manic grin, so his Instagram post is probably getting a lot of likes and comments and damn, what was he thinking, now the PR department is going to hate him – 

“Peter, relax,” Steve says. “It’s a nice photo. And either way, they’ll be more cross with Tony than with you.” 

“Rogers got it in one,” Tony agrees, pocketing his phone again. “Their hate for me is what’s keeping them alive at this point. Anyway, better return to my cave if I gotta spend the afternoon in Marketing. See ya, kid.” 

He squeezes Peter’s hip and winks, which is the height of PDA they agreed to do in front of strangers with cameras. And yeah, there are definitely cameras trained at them. Peter wonders if these patrons honestly think they’re being inconspicuous. 

With how that one woman almost drops her phone when Tony waves at her in parting, they actually might. 

*

Peter arrives early. 

He’s not sure how Tony decided on 2:30PM when it takes him a mere ten minutes to walk from the coffee shop to Stark Tower and only three minutes for Mr. JARVIS to take him to the correct floor and point him towards Conference Room Three. 

Where there’s already someone in the room. 

“Flash?” Peter blinks. “What are you, what’re you doing here?”

“I’m an intern, Parker,” he sneers. He’s arranging water and soda bottles in the middle of the table but there’s already a smart board set up, displaying the photo Bucky shared.

“But today is Sunday.”

“And I’d love to use the time to work on my cross-platform ‘week of summer stories’ series but _someone_ ,” Flash drawls, “decided to take an awful picture no one signed off on, so here I am.”

“It’s not awful!”

Flash gives him a condescending look and steps up to the board. “Please, there’s no thought about composition. The guy who took it clearly only wanted to get all of you into the frame and paid no thought to depth or background; and he used the wrong filter. See how flat the overall look is? You don’t want that, not when there are better alternatives available, or, you know, you could just give it a quick edit.”

“Aren’t you usually out with Becky now?” 

Even to Peter’s ears it sounds defensive. He doesn’t expect Flash to wave it off. 

“Becky and I parted ways. Didn’t you see my #newsingle post?” 

“I’m… I’m sorry?”

“No, it’s a relief.” It even sounds like he means it. “Now I can focus all my energy on this. Well, and college essays. And preparing for the SATs, but that’s only so I can keep up my ‘study in style’ campaign. Others look to me for motivation and I can’t let them down.”

“An inspiring attitude.”

Flash ducks his head as Peter turns towards the new voice and comes face to face with a woman in her 40s with her hair in a strict bun and pearls around her neck. She must be Mrs. McKenna. 

Peter introduces himself and extends his hand. 

“Ah, a polite young man,” McKenna says. “That’s a good start. I can work with that.”

Just then, Tony appears behind her. He’s in the same slacks and T-shirt as before but there are the telltale traces of oil on his jaw and elbows that mean he’s hardly remembered he has to be somewhere and had to rush through cleaning up. 

“Please tell me this ain’t gonna turn into some kind of makeover montage,” Tony says to McKenna, “cause I’m getting that vibe right now.”

“This won’t be quite as restrictive. Why don’t you take a seat while we finish setting up?”

McKenna hands her StarkPad to Flash, who accepts it and busies himself with something while McKenna opens her purse and gets out a planner and hand-written notes. Their movements have a flow to them and the way Flash looks at her makes Peter wonder if Flash has actually found a mentor by blackmailing his way into an internship. Seriously, the world isn’t fair. 

But then Tony squeezes his hand before they sit down and they share a smile and any negative thought Peter might have had goes right out the window. 

The meeting itself doesn’t go as badly as Peter feared it would. McKenna doesn’t even criticize the picture that much; though she does tear them (i.e. Tony) a new one for agreeing to it before they had a viable PR strategy in place. 

McKenna and her team have already designed one, though, which boils down to a set of guidelines to follow when posting pictures online. 

“No nudity, no compromising positions, no alcoholic beverages anywhere near your person,” McKenna lists, giving quick explanations for the individual bullet points. 

“Uh, I’m not allowed to drink,” Peter points out. 

“Neither is my daughter, which doesn’t seem to stop her. Now, as to compromising positions, kisses are okay but don’t overdo it. Once you’re back in school…”

Peter is glad he brought his notebook cause there’s no way he could memorize all the tips and tricks McKenna shares. Five minutes in, Tony starts playing with something on his tablet which has Peter smile and McKenna huff, and the tall black man in a tailored suit who joins them at some point pointedly clear his throat. 

Tony merely flashes his teeth and bumps his knee against Peter’s under the table. 

“I’m Brian Remy,” the new arrival introduces himself even though Peter knew that (he’s seen every press conference SI ever held, after all) and hopes his palms aren’t too sweaty as they shake hands. 

“Pro tip,” Remy says, “get into the habit of wiping your hands on your thigh before getting up. It’ll become second nature at some point.” Without waiting for a reply he pulls up his calendar on his phone. “I’m just here to say hello and schedule a coaching session so you’re prepared for the first event. The Met?”

The latter was directed at McKenna who shakes her head. “OLPC. Or NEXT.”

“Ugh, not that one,” Tony groans. He leans in to Peter and whispers, loud enough that it still carries across the table, “They’re always such a bummer. I say we start with something fun.”

“I’ll look into it,” Remy promises. 

They schedule a session for Wednesday since it’s Peter’s day off and then Remy asks Flash to take Peter to HR to have an official ID badge made for him while he runs a few things by Tony. 

“You should rethink your social media presence,” Flash comments after making Peter stand in front of a branded SI banner. He moves on to adjusting the lights in the small studio set-up. “Make the story your own. You’d be able to build an immense following.”

Peter shrugs. “I don’t get why. I mean… Why would anyone care?”

“Because you’re dating a billionaire. Still don’t get how you landed him, but whatever.” Flash picks up a camera and starts checking it over. “You care about sustainability, right? Local sourcing, all that stuff? With a platform you could spread your message; influence people. Affect change. You’re big on that, right? Or are all the slogans on the walls of your shop just decoration?”

“No, they’re… But we got one – a presence, I mean.”

Flash snorts. “Presence needs strategy, Parker. Now look at the lens. And relax, dude; damn, this isn’t a mugshot. No, don’t smile, save that for your sugar daddy –”

“He’s not my –”

“Shut up, I’m trying to work here.”

Peter does. _Click-click-click_ fills the room as Flash snaps away until he’s satisfied and makes an ‘at ease’ gesture like Peter’s some sort of underling. 

“You really need to work on your bedside manner, Flash.” 

“Oh, I have the best bedside manner,” he sneers. “I just save if for people who appreciate my talents.”

They’re silent after that, Flash busy with working the gadgets that somehow spit out a sleek ID badge, Peter worrying his lip between his teeth since he can’t quite ignore what Flash said. He might be a grade-A douchebag but, well, maybe he’s onto something. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Flash says, “Anyway, Parker, should you ever see the light and realize building a social media presence will not only further your own career goals – not that you seem to be having any – but also make the world a better place, let me know.”

“You, why would I…”

“They’re going to take me on as a student employee at the end of summer. I’ll be part of SI’s social media team.”

Peter doubts he’s ever heard a scarier sentence in his life.

Or seen Flash be any smugger than he is right now. 

It also means… he’ll probably have to deal with Flash on a regular basis now, with Tony and him being official and all. 

_Damn._

“Wow, the disgust on your face is really endearing, Parker.”

“Do they know they hired a bully?”

“Former bully,” Flash says without missing a beat. “What, when’s the last time I called you ‘Penis Parker’? See? I’m reformed now.”

“Because you’ve seen the error of your ways or cause you’d lose the job if you didn’t?”

“Tsk… So little faith.”

Peter is still shaking his head – mentally at least – after Flash has returned him to the conference room and left him there with an, “I have actual work to do.” If the guy thinks being semi-tolerable will make up for two years of taunts and jibes – nope. If JARVIS is allowed to hold a grudge, so is Peter. 

McKenna’s last slide is still on the whiteboard: examples of celebrities photographed while getting into their cars to drive off. 

All of them look as though they’re really happy to see the paparazzi – McKenna said they rarely actually feel that way but that doesn’t matter. Wear the hint of a smile, give a wave or a nod if you feel weird ignoring them, but never engage. 

“You could also pull a Daniel Radcliff,” Tony suggested at some point. “He wore the exact same outfit for five months so all their shots were useless since they looked identical.”

Which seemed quite impractical to Peter cause, “I don’t have that many identical clothes,” and Remy immediately said, “And you’re not buying them for him. This move wouldn’t be funny, not in this day and age. Not for you two.”

So Peter will make sure he always looks presentable, that he has a pleasant expression or smiles, and doesn’t insult anyone ever. Not that he’s worried about himself… Yet how MJ and Ned will cope with the second-hand attention remains to be seen. 

“Studying already.” 

Tony has returned to the conference room, looking somewhat haggled. Peter steps away from where he has been inspecting the slide. 

“Aren’t you a stellar boyfriend?”

“You okay?”

They’re in each other’s space again immediately. Peter loves how fluid their movements are again after only two days in, and how wonderful the pressure of Tony’s arms around him feels. 

“Ugh,” is Tony’s reply, dropping his head onto his shoulder. “Details of my trip next week. Seems I won’t be back until Saturday morning, but then I’m taking you out on a drive, kid.” He places a light kiss on Peter’s neck. “First test drive with the arc reactor engine, just up the coast a bit up to Greenwich and over to the Hamptons, make fun of the mansions, find some greasy diner on the way back, or maybe Shawarma…”

By now, Peter has to hide his loopy grin in Tony’s shoulder. “Sounds awesome.”

“What was that, kid?”

He pulls back. “Sounds awesome.”

“That’s cause it is!” 

“So, uh…” Peter bites his lip. Tony’s hand on his back is kind of distracting. “How long are you, um, how long are you gonna be on antibiotics? It’s seven days in total, right, so when did you…”

“Course you did some research,” Tony sighs, though his eyes shine with fondness. “Yeah, about that… until Friday. So we gotta show some restraint till next weekend.”

Peter grins. “Literally?”

“Ngh, I don’t know what’s hotter – you using that word correctly or implying you’re up for the handcuffs.”

Either way, Tony’s nuzzling his jaw, his stubble tingling in a way that’s like a fire on Peter’s skin and he presses closer, seeking more of that –

“Oh.” 

They don’t jump apart at the sound. Or rather, Tony holds him in place as he tries until they come to a leisurely stop and are able to face whoever just entered. 

It’s Flash. 

And he looks horrified. 

“You forget something, minion?” Tony drawls, startling a chuckle out of Peter which he – very unsuccessfully – tries to stifle. Mostly cause Flash’s expression is priceless. 

“Just, um, I wanted to switch off the tech here, Mr. Stark. Conserving energy, and all that. I’m sorry for interrupting.”

Flash acting meek and subservient. Oh god, Peter has just proven the existence of karma. Maybe this is its way to make up for all the suffering of the past months? 

“This isn’t two-hundred percent, minion,” Tony tsks. “You gotta step up your game if you wanna meet expectations around here, I’m afraid.”

“I swear I will, sir. This is never going to happen again.” 

His apologetic smile is so saccharine that Peter’s shoulders are shaking from his suppressed reactions. Flash obviously wants to glare at him but somehow manages to maintain his earnest expression all through booting down the smart board and leaving them alone…

… which is when Peter bursts out laughing. 

“Oh kid, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Tony says. “But that’s a story for later. How about we defile my workshop couch a bit, tinker some more, and I’ll fill you in over diner?”

Peter has never heard a better suggestion in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I can't believe this finally happened... It feels like we've been in Angst Ville forever! But no more... *contented-sigh*
> 
> I have two more chapters for you all: **a final one** (*gulps*) since there are a few loose threads still flying about, and a **bonus chapter thingy** that will be a surprise though won't technically be part of the story. Yet for now, I leave you with this. Hope this lived up to your expectations!
> 
> *hits-post-and-hides*


	32. thirty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... THIS IS IT. I can't believe I'm posting the final chapter of this story. But after a few re-writes since it took a while to figure out how to best end this story... here it is. 
> 
> For the record: merlenhiver gets 12% of the credit for this fic ;)  
> Darling, I couldn't have done this without. Never ever would I have expected your prompt to turn into this epic journey. I've learned so much from working on this with you and I can't wait to delve into future installments of this verse ♥ 
> 
> … cause YES, of course I'm turning it into a series! *cheers* See end notes for more on that. 
> 
> Before you read this chapter, **dear readers** , I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support.  
> This fic has become the epitome of the fandom spirit for me - words cannot express how much your kudos, bookmarks and especially comments mean to me.  
> My purpose in life is to bring people joy with my stories – even if they might curse my name because of all these FEELS^^ – and hearing from you, discussing with you, and bonding with you over the course of the months it took to write this has been the most rewarding experience of my life so far.  
> So, from the bottom of my heart: **THANK YOU!**
> 
> Now, finally… for the last time in a while... enjoy =)

“You should leave some clothes here.”

The words clearly take the kid by surprise. They’re sprawled out on the sofa, watching a movie, with Peter’s head in Tony’s lap who has one hand tangled in his hair and the other on his phone – cause seriously, this movie is unfamiliar with the concept of a suspense arc, ugh… Where was he? Right, Peter, surprised, looking up at him. 

“For real?”

“Unless you plan on A, never sleeping over, or B, doing the proverbial walk of shame in the clothes they photographed you in the day before… which, okay, whatever floats your boat but I’m sure there was a bullet point on a slide somewhere about this.”

“Uh, no, I’d love to – uh, like, how many clothes? Which ones? And, um, do I just put them… ?”

It’s moments like this Tony wonders if he’s actually caught in an elaborate dream because the kid is just too precious. Then he leans down to steal a kiss and it all feels very much real… Deliciously so, in fact. 

“Bring a couple o’ things,” Tony says. “Yes, underwear, too. Though I’d be happy to start something like Starkers Sundays in the workshop if you’re too self-conscious.”

Tony’s rather amused by his pun himself and relishes the way Peter blushes as he laughs. _Ngh,_ how he missed this… 

Next thing he knows, Peter’s in his lap and they’re making out like it’s going out of style. It still feels kind of surreal, that he can have this now, that he doesn’t need to hide how much he prefers spending time with Peter to anyone else in the world or that he doesn’t need to school his features around the kid. 

And while the feeling that he’s on burrowed time, that he doesn’t deserve this – yeah, while all that will never go away completely, Peter’s voice in his head has almost become loud enough to drown out those thoughts by now. 

At the moment it also gets a lot of help from Tony’s libido, cause damn, the kid knows how to kiss. Tony finds his hands wandering to cup Peter’s ass and pull him closer, which usually leads to some very, very hot frottage… yet today Peter withdraws before their bodies can fully connect. Wait, why would he – 

“Sir, Mrs. Potts is on her way up.”

Right. That was it. 

“Ugh, already?” Tony groans, keeping a tight grip on Peter who was about to scramble off him like it’s April and they’re still unofficial, which… nope. 

“Relax, kid. She knows you’re here.”

That doesn’t help with Peter’s deer-in-the-headlights look. “Oh, sure, yeah. And I did the briefing today… and was nice to those reporters –”

“You’re always nice to reporters,” Tony points out, earning a shrug. 

At least Peter relaxes, sagging against him a little. Tony closes his eyes, wraps his arms tighter around him and buries his face in the nape of his neck. Hm…

They disentangle themselves when the elevator _dings_ open (since Tony is a mature adult who can move past such trivial things… also, Peter didn’t like the _dang_ sound so Tony had JARVIS switch it back) and Tony walks over to greet Pepper. 

“Hi Tony. Are you all packed?”

“Yup.”

“Socks and ties, too?” Pepper asks pointedly. Like every time since the incident in Beijing. It’s getting tedious. 

“You make it sound like they have no clothes in Germany.”

“They do, but we have no time to buy them.” Pepper finally turns to Peter who has been approaching at a glacial pace. “Hello, Mr. Parker. I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you. Or to apologize.”

“A-apologize?”

“Yes,” Pepper sighs. “I’m afraid my actions on Friday… Well. I told myself that desperate times call for desperate measures, yet there would have been other ways. I see that now.”

 _Only took a shouting match in the workshop,_ Tony would love to add but fortunately remembers to hold his tongue cause this isn’t about him. It’s about Peter. 

And because Peter is a saint, he says, “Thank you, Mrs. Potts. It’s… I understand. I’m glad you’re looking out for Tony” and means every word of it. 

Pepper smiles at him. “Likewise, Mr. Parker.”

“Y’all make it sound like I need constant care and oversight,” Tony grumbles. 

Both of their lips twitch – oh damn, he’s created a monster now, hasn’t he? Before Tony can protest, though, Peter clears his throat. 

“And, uh, please, Mrs. Potts… Call me Peter.”

“Pepper.” She smiles at him and extends her hand which makes Peter’s eyes widen. 

“Wow,” he breathes, shaking her hand. “I… this is… Wow.”

“Tony Stark, genius engineer, rock star of science, standing right here,” Tony quips, waving his arms, “but she gets a ‘wow’. What do I get?”

“An I love you.” 

_… what?_

Judging by his expression, Peter did not intend to say that out lout. Tony blinks, even as he feels his lips curl into the widest smile he’s ever smiled. 

Pepper takes one look at them, holds her breath and slides away to who-knows-where. 

Peter’s face goes from ‘oh fuck’ to ‘I’m sorry’ to ‘alright then’ in a matter of seconds and he settles on squaring his shoulders and a shaky, “Y-yeah. That.”

“Ha, god, that’s, oh kid.” Tony can’t not laugh cause there’s too much emotion in his chest and it just flows out of him, even as he moves closer and pulls Peter in by his belt loops.

He waits until they’re still again, standing in each other’s space, one hand on Peter’s hip, the other touching his jaw, and he has all of Peter’s attention.

“I love you, too. I feel like I should add a ‘duh’, but that’s not really romantic, is it?”

Peter’s too busy kissing him to respond. 

*

Mrs. Potts – no, Pepper, _Pepper_ , because Peter is allowed to call her that now, oh god – gives them a few minutes before she interrupts them with a polite cough to remind them that Tony has a flight to catch. 

Peter’s too dazed for the rest of Wednesday to register they has to say goodbye until Saturday since… they said it. They actually said it. He has a boyfriend now, and they’re in love, and Peter feels like he’s walking on clouds – 

Until he wakes up on Thursday and there’s no new message on his phone. 

“Um, Mr. JARVIS? Is Tony okay?”

Cause that would be something, wouldn’t it, a plane crash now that they’re – 

“Sir landed in Ingolstadt at 6:30 AM local time and has been in meetings for the past five hours.”

“Oh… That’s, uh… thanks, Mr. JARVIS.”

Peter swallows down his worry and tries to focus on preparing _The Hybrid Puppy_ for opening, which isn’t exactly easy when Peter does it in full view of Manhattan’s most dedicated photographers, who are already camped out near the front doors at 5.50 AM. He texts Tony a picture of himself at the coffee machine and gets a heart reaction back along with “Looking good, kid”, but nothing more. 

“You want to text him again?” May asks as she drops by with a new batch of bagels from Diego shortly before eleven. 

Something about her tone tells Peter he’s overreacting. He knows that, okay – if he thinks about it logically, there’s no reason for him to be feeling so… he can’t even put a word to it. It just… well, it shouldn’t be so hard. It’s only forty-eight hours to go until Tony’s back. 

Peter shakes his head. “He’s in meetings.”

“Oh, sweetie…” May reaches out to pad his cheek but Peter ducks out of the way. That’s not a picture he wants to see in the tabloids. His aunt, fortunately, takes it with a sense of humor and quickly changes the topic. “Come on, back to work. The schmear won’t spread itself.”

But preparing lunch snacks is a boring task Peter could do in his sleep and his mind is right back to calculating how many seconds there are in forty-eight hours (172,800).

“You’re being pathetic, Parker,” MJ says later that night. “Get your head out of the clouds and focus on my article.”

“Maybe reading about all this isn’t exactly helping?” Ned offers. 

He’s taken over the coffee table in Peter’s living room while Peter has MJ’s laptop on his knees and tries to read through her analysis of the media reaction to the video and subsequent events. 

“Oh, it is. Peter needs to grow a thicker skin.” 

“He’s been practicing with the paparazzi every day – oh, dude, it’s so cool, one of them oven showed up at the tech store today! I pretended I didn’t get what he wanted and even sold him a new external hard disk. One of the really expensive ones, too!”

Peter forces a smile. “That’s great, Ned.”

“Hey, lover boy. Article. Now.”

With a sigh, Peter obeys. As uncomfortable as reading about the Order of Protection makes him, with all the memories it brings back, this is a big deal for his friend. MJ is submitting this to the _New York Times_ , hoping that they will publish it. 

Perhaps that’s why he’s taking Tony’s radio silence so hard – it feels too much like the time under the Order of Protection. During the only extended trip Tony took when they were together in secret, he’d go off the grid for a few hours, yeah, but somehow it was easier to handle. Maybe the layer of secrecy was helping? 

Not that he’d like to return to it, just… damn, he misses Tony so freaking much. 

*

Friday brings no message from Tony whatsoever, though the afternoon arrives with much anticipated news from Mr. Kassell. 

The lawyer strolls into the back with a neutral expression. “Mr. Toomes will remain in FBI custody until his trial,” he says, “meaning I won’t need to have my associate file a restraining order on your behalf, Mr. Parker.”

Peter slumps over the rack of dishes he’s currently drying, though he can’t be too happy about it since Mr. Kassell doesn’t look it, either. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing yet, that’s the thing,” he says. “I’m afraid the future of _The Sweet Vulture_ is still hanging in the balance. And, for reasons that may forever remain a mystery, my main rival has taken on Toomes and Mason’s defense pro bono.”

To Peter, the reasons aren’t quite that baffling, but he bites his tongue. 

Kassell’s update is not particularly helpful, either. Just as well that Peter has to get some paperwork done. At least when he’s inside the office, no once can judge how often he checks his phone or how long he stays after closing before he feels up to returning home and collapsing on his bed… 

Of course Tony contacts him while he’s asleep. 

And of course JARVIS doesn’t unmute the phone cause the alert would have woken Peter up, meaning he only sees the video Tony sent on Saturday morning. May’s already gone, since she switched shifts with Peter to give him the whole weekend off, which means he has the apartment all to himself today. 

“Hey kid, JARVIS said you’re sleeping and you need your rest. And voice notes are too boring for the likes of me,” Tony winks. 

Tony’s voice is a bit odd, almost like he’s drunk. He doesn’t seem loose and relaxed, though… more annoyed and frustrated, and he clearly hasn’t slept much. 

“Check out this hotel room, kid, isn’t it funky? Guess the interior designer let their toddler choose the color pattern… No idea who booked this for me, but I’ll never again say the Germans have no sense of humor. Ugh, they’re really good at this business doing thing… but we’re gonna agree on a deal tonight, which is what counts… Can’t wait to be back with you, though. Miss you, kid.”

Tony ends with corny air kisses that are so ridiculous Peter can’t not laugh. 

He sends a voice note back cause Tony’s face will be awesome… and, well, he doubts he could hide how much he’s missing Tony on screen. The last thing he wants is to make Tony question how committed he is. 

Cause he is committed. Cut out for all this, on the other hand? 

A chime from his phone distracts Peter before he can finish that particular train of thought. It’s a text from MJ, two photos with the caption, “I think I found your stalkers.”

The picture she sent show a man and a woman – no, not just any man and woman, but the duo that’s been trying to get an embarrassing photo of Peter for the past few days. Yesterday after his shift, the woman bumped into him hard enough to make him almost fall. Considering how much of a klutz he is, it’s only a matter of time before they succeed.

MJ, of course, wants him to take this to Mrs. McKenna. Thus her moonlighting as a detective. 

“Good news, Parker,” she says instead of a greeting when he picks up her call, “these two are known entities in Manhattan. Last year, Taylor Swift filed a restraining order. Want me to forward this to you or should I bring it with me to the coaching session on Monday?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I’m fighting despicable practices that give journalists a bad name.”

 _And because you’re my friend,_ goes unsaid, yet Peter hears it anyway.

“It can wait till Monday.”

“Fine... You ruin those muffins yet?”

“... no.”

“Please let that be true. I bet Diego the power of love was stronger than your lack of baking skills.”

Peter doesn’t know whether to be touched or insulted – which happens quite often with MJ – but pays extra special attention to the tray in the oven. 

Once they’re done, the apple carrot muffins don’t look quite like Diego’s creations, but decent enough to take with them on the drive. 

Then he glances at the clock - and promptly panics. 

He has less than twenty minutes to prepare the sandwiches he promised Tony and get ready. For how much the past couple of days crawled by, time seems to have sped up again, which, yeah, not scientifically accurate but he’s sure psychology has some kind of explanation for it. 

Changing is simple, if only cause he settled on what to wear yesterday and refuses to question his choice.

Not that he needs to. His [favorite blue polo shirt](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/89/4c/e7/894ce792dd70ecf55b3c4c5116e3f295.jpg) will do just fine. 

Which is also Tony’s. Favorite shirt, that is. On Peter, not on… anyway. 

It’s hard to think when Tony is finally, _finally_ standing in front of him, lighting up the hallway with his smile. Peter steps back to let Tony close the door, then promptly pushes him against it. 

He’s clearly jetlagged, but smells freshly showered and tastes of toothpaste. 

“I could have come to the Tower,” is the first thing Peter says. “You wouldn’t have had to – I mean, it would’ve –”

“What makes you think I – ah, no. I showered on the jet.”

Peter squints at Tony. “You have a shower on the jet?”

“Of course! Why would I design a jet without one? Or a pole, for that matter, but I got rid of that in 2009.” 

“So, um… you’re literally jetlagged?” 

The pun earns a laugh and Tony pinching him cause, “Seriously, kid, you’re killing me,” which has Peter whelp and flee across the living room. Tony chases him but Peter ducks out of his reach and makes for his room, only realizing that _shit, Tony’s never been inside of it_ when it’s way too late. 

Tony collides with his back and they stumble a bit before regaining their balance. Peter spent much of the morning tidying up – he even vacuumed – and contemplating whether or not to take off any of the posters. 

The banner of the 2010 Stark Expo makes Tony grin, though, which is good, as does the shiny laptop residing on Peter’s desk. 

“Tell me, kid,” he says, his voice suddenly very close to Peter’s ear as he feels Tony’s arms wrap around him from behind. “How many fantasies about me have you had in here?”

 _Oh fuck._

Peter has been trying everything not to think too much about the fact that Tony’s chlamydia-free again cause baking with a boner is not as fun as it sounds, but now that the loneliness is over and Tony is right here, in his bedroom, the apartment empty… 

“Uh, a lot.”

“Tell me,” Tony whispers. 

His hands are stroking patterns into Peter’s chest through the fabric of his shirt, close enough to his nipples to tease while the outline of Tony’s growing erection is a firm pressure against Peter’s ass. 

“Nothing, um, nothing too wild. I mean, it’s just, uh, basic stuff…”

“Like what?”

One hand travels down his body, settling on the belt buckle. It’s like Tony’s waiting for him to continue before he’ll do anything else. 

“Like, uh…” 

Yup, now Tony’s opening it. 

“You, undressing me… and touching me, and then – uh…” Peter has to stop when Tony’s hand finally pulls down his underwear enough to expose his erection. 

“Am I being rough?” Tony’s other arm suddenly tightens around Peter’s chest, pressing him more firmly against Tony’s. He can feel the edges of the arc reactor through the layers, which chases a shudder down Peter’s spine. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Tony says, his voice a low rumble. 

His beard scrapes against Peter’s neck as fingers wrap around his cock and start with quick, strong strokes that leave Peter panting. He also times it with deliberate rolls of his hip, rubbing himself against Peter with maddening restraint. 

“Then what? C’m on, kid, I’ve seen you multitask. Tell me.”

“You, uh, you work me open,” Peter manages. “Quickly, cause you can’t – _ngh_ – you don’t wanna wait any longer, and, and, and you push into me all at…” The rest is lost in a moan as Peter comes over Tony’s fist. 

The hand on his nipple withdraws and Peter tries to get his brain back online while Tony uses his handkerchief to wipe his hand. It’s one of his engraved ones – maybe Peter can offer to put it in the wash for him and, just, um, forget to return it. 

Tony makes quick work of pulling off Peter’s T-shirt and then his own while Peter wriggles out of his jeans, socks, and underwear and moments later they’re both naked, in Peter’s bedroom – no, in his bed, cause Tony seems to have taken the clue and is done being gentle. 

Every firm grip, every hint of teeth sets Peter’s nerve endings on fire, but the most arousing thing of it all is how unguarded Tony is. He can see the raw want in his expression, the pleasure when Peter arches up against him, can feel the desperation in his touch as Tony preps him with generous amounts of lube. 

“I’m ready, okay, I’m ready, I swear,” Peter gasps when he’s just can’t take it anymore. 

“You sure?” Tony stops, three fingers buried deep inside him, a promise of what’s to come. “It’s been a while. I don’t want to –”

“You won’t. It’s not too much,” Peter promises. “Please, Tony. I need to feel you again.” 

Tony curses under his breath but leans forward for a quick kiss, then slowly removes his fingers. Peter snatches up the tube before Tony can and tries not to get distracted while covering Tony’s erection cause he meant it, and it’s been _three months_.

Yeah, it’s been three months and it feels strange but in a good way, the blunt head of Tony’s cock against his entrance, the sensation of being filled, watching pleasure take over Tony’s expression, feeling him bottom out and stop since they both need a moment. 

Peter surges up for a kiss and digs his fingers into Tony’s back. He’s getting so damn close already, emotions and sensations all pooling at the base of his spine and threatening to erupt much too soon – 

“Don’t hold back, kid,” Tony says as if reading his thoughts. 

For emphasis, Tony reaches between their bodies to jerk him off, timing it with his own thrusts that are becoming more and more forceful. Tony’s giving him the fantasy, Peter realizes with a start, and the “I love you” comes out as a breathy gasp before another kiss. 

Tony heard, definitely, cause his next thrusts are nothing but erratic, and that’s it, Peter’s powerless against the force of his orgasm. Tony follows him over the edge only a few breaths later and they collapse in a heap of limbs and come and sweat. 

*

“I feel like this belongs in our top ten,” Tony announces as they emerge from the shower. “Wait, do we have a top ten? Let’s start one. So far, that’s number one.”

“Should we add a new protocol, too?” Peter teases, cause if anyone would come up with a way to use a sophisticated AI to chart data of their sex lives, it’s Tony.

Who looks like he’s genuinely entertaining the thought.

“Um, Tony, no.” 

For some reason, that makes the other man dissolve into a fit of giggles. “Oh my god, kid, I can’t believe you already got the chaperone tone down to a tee.“

Peter decides to take that as a good thing and returns to his room in a quest for his clothes. 

Once he’s done, he grabs Tony’s stuff and makes to go back to the bathroom but stops a moment. His room feels different, somehow. Not really because of the sex – though that will be very difficult to forget; he might just have to move his homework to the kitchen table for a while… 

Yeah, not because of that. Though Peter can’t quite put his finger on what it really is.

“Kid,” Tony calls from the bathroom, “why don’t you have any hair oil in this household? I’d even settle for coconut right now, though if you’re hiding boabab somewhere that’d be splendid.”

“Uh, cause my aunt and I aren’t that high maintenance?” Peter says, returning to the bathroom. 

Tony gives him a flat look, which is all the more memorable since he’s completely naked in front of the mirror. 

“Kid… Peter!”

“Oh, sorry, I –”

“Don’t apologize, I love that I got you under my spell.” Tony sways his hips with a grace that’s captivating. “Those Starkers Sundays get more appealing by the minute.”

Peter should probably just give up any hope of ever being able to control his blushing in Tony’s company, but when he sees the soft look in Tony’s eyes he guesses he doesn’t really have to. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll prepare the…” he stammers, pointing towards the kitchen. 

Packaging up the snacks and his own bag (including clothes cause he’s totally gonna stay over; free weekends rule) takes about as long as Tony does in the bathroom. He seems to have found the meager tub of gel Peter keeps for rare occasions, because there’s no hair out of place. 

“You missed an epic battle between me and Suave Men,” Tony says in a tone that’s so genuinely horrified Peter has to laugh. “Yeah, go ahead, kid with ridiculously perfect natural hair structure. I’m glad my pain gives you joy.”

Peter does, if only because a pouting Tony is adorable. Yet a moment later, his expression sobers up. Peter falls silent, too, catching the shift in atmosphere. 

“JARVIS said you asked after me, Thursday morning,” Tony says. His tone is nonchalant but his eyes are serious. “I guess I screwed that up, didn’t I? You’re supposed to call or something when you get to where you’re going so your boyfriend doesn’t think you got kidnapped or you’re ignoring him –”

“I knew you were busy,” Peter says, averting his eyes. “It’s, uh, it’s fine, Tony.”

“You wanna say that once more with feeling, kid?”

Peter forces himself to look back up. 

“Don’t tell me it’s fine when it’s not, alright?” 

It’s almost like a plea and Peter wants to kick himself for falling into old patterns. He chooses his next words carefully. “I, uh, I knew you were busy, but I still felt… not ignored, okay? I just… Maybe if we, uh, if we agree you’re going to call or at least text when you land somewhere, that’d be good. I don’t need us to constantly text or even call every day, but, um… I’ll get better at this, I’m sure, but we’ve only had a few days before the trip and it felt like, like… not like it hadn’t happened, but sorta… I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Hey.” Tony has moved close enough during his rambling that he can easily pull him into his arms. “I think I get it. Yeah, it sucked that we only got four full days of practice at this relationship thing before I had to jet off. And I screwed up on top of that.” 

Peter can’t help but agree. It’s weird admitting this to himself, that it’s not his fault for overreacting, or at least not entirely. That they’re both making this up as they go along and are bound to make mistakes. That it’s all worth it despite all of the drama – cause Peter loves him, and Tony loves him back. 

Tony untangles himself and manages half a grin. “I’ll make this up to you, okay? How about the trip to Spain we thought about? You gotta get some vacation days from the shop, right, and it’s still a bit before school starts.”

It takes a moment until Peter realizes why the offer feels a bit off… this is part of the apology. The trip would be Tony’s version of, of flowers or whatever, only with a bigger price tag, but –

“You – you don’t need to buy your way out of the doghouse with me,” Peter says. “Just text me next time you land somewhere and I’m happy.”

Tony blinks at him. “I wasn’t… was I?”

Peter gives an eloquent shrug and Tony apparently sees it, too, since he rubs his hands over his face with a self-deprecating huff. 

This time it’s Peter’s turn to step closer and “Hey” him. “We’ll figure it out. Just gotta, you know, find the bugs and then update the… uh…”

“That metaphor got away from you, kid,” Tony chuckles. He’s about to say something else when JARVIS suddenly pipes up from Tony’s phone and derails whatever it was into an annoyed groan. 

“Sir, there is a situation.”

“I swear to Turing, buddy, you’re doing this just to give me a heart attack so you can take over my persona and bring about the singularity – _what_ situation?”

“A passer-by recognized your car parked around the corner, resulting in a growing number of freelance journalists waiting for you and Mr. Parker’s exit.”

“That’s not a situation, that’s people being nosy assholes. That does not warrant that tone or word, you got it, J?”

“Of course, sir. My apologies.”

Peter has to bite down a smirk. To him, the AI sounds far from sincere. 

Grumbling about useless technology, Tony straightens his T-shirt and holds a hand out for the food bag. 

“You ready to face the cameras, kid?” Tony’s obviously aiming for matter-of-factly but misses by a few inches. 

Peter holds out the bag but instead of just handing it over, he places another kiss on Tony’s lips before heading out of the apartment. 

He leads them down the staircase – which Tony complains about, but it’s only eight floors (and the elevator isn’t the most reliable, so Peter doesn’t want to be the reason it breaks down again) ¬– but _of course_ they run into… 

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Gladwell,” Peter greets the stunned middle-aged couple from 9C, and tries to simply put one foot in front of the other like he’s not nervous as hell. 

Tony smiles, gives them a little wave, and chuckles all the way down to the ground floor. 

And then… that’s it. 

Peter can hear the commotion outside, people waiting to pounce on them – 

“The car’s gonna come to us,” Tony says, his voice a low whisper. “All we gotta do is walk to the street and get in. Smile, don’t react to whatever bullshit they’re spewing, and you’ll be fine. I might throw in a wink or two if they’re nice and let us go straight to the car, they’ll love that.”

“A-alright…”

“Hey.”

Peter takes a deep breath and meets Tony’s gaze. There’s a twinkle in his eye, and oh shit, of course – they’re about to take the arc reactor engine for a test drive. With all the fuzz about unsent texts and the looming presence of paparazzi, Peter almost forgot about what awaits him. 

“You ready to drive off into the sunset?” Tony asks. 

“Uh, it’s noon.”

Tony throws his head back and laughs. The sight takes Peter’s breath away and for a moment, the noises from outside fade away. 

It all comes rushing back in a second later but that’s okay. 

Peter is ready. 

Smiling at Tony, he steps forward and opens the front door. 

 

**THE END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FADE OUT...
> 
> – but wait, I have a surprise for you! There's a bonus chapter thingy that you'll hopefully enjoy. 
> 
> And, of course, if you're so inclined... let me know what you thought about this chapter =) Or this fic in general if you're new to this ♥


	33. thirty-three: RHP AUs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this bonus chapter thingy, I’d like to share with you all the narrative detours that I took while planning and writing this story.  
> Some of these were discarded before I was at a point to execute them; other made it onto the page. Only merlenhiver’s skilled intervention saved those chapters from not living up to their fullest potential. And another handful were suggested by readers.
> 
> Either way, I hope this delights you =)

BONUS CHAPTER: **RHP AUs – How the story could have gone, but didn't**

 

 **The Internship**  
Imagine this: instead of investing in _The Hybrid Puppy_ as part of the local initiative conceived of by Remy and McKenna, Tony invites Peter to dinner… and offers him an internship at Stark Industries.  
A tempting concept – Tony for sure thought so^^ He wanted to find something that would allow him to spend time with Peter on a regular basis. Too bad that making Peter an intern would have skewed the power imbalance between them even more in Tony’s favor… which is why Remy and McKenna came up with the initiative.  
That way, Peter gets to hold on to his autonomy and assert himself as more of an equal in their dynamic. 

 

 **Gaining Powers**  
It’s not until Rhodey finally makes an appearance that we find out what the fuck happened to the Iron Man suit. Tony’s always had the Mark I in this verse since he escaped from the cave with it and for a while I actually considered featuring it more prominently in the plot.  
More specifically: Peter would have somehow discovered the suit and made Tony see that he has to do something, that he has what it takes to be a superhero. They would have built Iron Man together (maybe even given Peter the Spider suit) and eventually faced off against Toomes and Mason’s “Seemingly-Evil-But-Not-Actually-Evil Plan To Help People That Goes Horribly Awry” (TM)… Obviously Tony and Peter would have emerged victorious.  
In the end, it felt too much like canon and not at all like what a coffee shop AU is supposed to accomplish. 

 

 **Messy, Convoluted Finale**  
The penultimate plan for the finale went as follows: In a bid to win Peter back, Tony builds arc reactors for low-income neighborhoods… without telling the public, cause it’s a surprise! Toomes notices something suspicious and believes, as he is wont to do, that Stark is up to no good. In trying to stop Tony, Toomes almost blows up the city – but Peter and Tony save the day, proving to everyone (and each other) that they are better together.  
Yup. Convoluted mess, indeed. 

 

 **Dropping the ball**  
The first version of the “mole at SI” chapter that starts off the “Bruce becoming a private detective” subplot was completely void of … the mole. Up until the epilogue, this was the only chapter where merlenhiver said, “How about we talk on the phone?” when I asked for initial feedback. xD  
Since yes, no mole-related conflict would have totally slowed the pace down and dropped the ball, and even though it took ages to figure out how this would work, I’m eternally grateful merlenhiver pointed out the lack of suspense and didn’t sign off on the chapter until it worked! 

 

 **Marriage of Convenience**  
As pointed out by Licious after chapter 21: Coulson using the L-word and the water on Tony’s ring finger might have been foreshadowing! In fact, minors under the age of 17 can marry in New York with a guardian’s consent, and spouses don’t have to testify against their married partner.  
So in this AU, Tony and Peter would have ended up entering a marriage of convenience to avoid the Order of Protection due to a legal loophole that actually exists. 

 

 **Rom-Com Ending**  
As proposed by RavenWolf48 after chapter 24 [x]: Once Peter, MJ and Ned have found the person who took the video, Peter appeals in court. During questioning, he publically admits to his feelings for Tony. Tony sees that and pens an article himself that goes viral about how he also has LOVE-type feelings.  
Peter only reads the article when MJ points it out to him. Which is when Tony turns up – cue big romantic reunion, which MJ films and shares on her platform. That in turn convinces the DA/judge that these two are good for each other and “love has no age”, so they get to live happily ever after. 

 

 **Flood of Fluff**  
Initially, the hearing was going to segue right into the date without Rhodey and Pepper having words with Peter. Basically Fluff Overkill – and I have no idea why I thought that would actually work in anyone’s favor^^

 

 **And the last word…**  
… goes to Bruce! Until recently, I was set on having the final scene in Bruce’s POV. In it, he is leaving for a conference/symposium thingy and wants to make sure Tony is doing okay so he goes to the workshop.  
There, he finds Peter and Tony working together. Tony is too distracted to notice Bruce is there but Peter does. Bruce realizes he doesn’t need to worry because Peter got this and they’re tooth-rottingly happy together :) Fade out.  
Cute, but not satisfying enough, so this never happened. 

*

**BONUS ROUND – Deleted Scenes**

There are two scenes that happened yet ended up on the cutting room floor that I don’t want to keep from you, dear readers. Enjoy!!! 

**Chapter 29: Peter and JARVIS at the court**  
At first, merlenhiver didn’t think ending the chapter in which Rhodey and Pepper confront Peter with Bruce’s POV was the right way to go, so I wrote out an insert and the reading of the verdict in Peter’s POV. 

[…]

Peter ends up in the corner, forehead pressed against the door and eyes screwed shut. 

_“Loving Tony Stark’s a dirty job and from where I’m standing you don’t seem like you’re really all that equipped to handle it.”_

_“I’m not sure you have what it takes.”_

Peter turns around and slides down the cubicle door. The tiles are cold from the AC but he doesn’t care. 

So far every time he’s allowed himself to dream about being together with Tony – like, openly and legally – he’s always envisioned them tinkering in the workshop or watching a movie on Tony’s awesome television in the penthouse, or making out in the break room of _The Hybrid Puppy_ … 

He’s never even considered that Tony might want to take him to an event, but that’s what partners do, isn’t it, take them to parties and gatherings, only in Tony’s case it’ll be galas and fundraisers and award shows… Events Peter thought he’d never have a chance of attending as anything other than part of the service staff. 

And even the idea of giving an interview makes him queasy. 

Not to mention the traveling. The stretch of time Tony spent touring the US for interviews and appointments after the City Water incident was unbearable, and that was before Peter knew how serious he felt. How much worse would it be if they were actually together? 

_Fuck._

Peter thumps the back of his head against the door. This was all so much easier before Steve and Bucky’s wedding. 

“Mr. Parker,” a voice says and almost gives him a heart attack, “the court reconvenes in five minutes. I would advise you to make your way back upstairs.”

It’s JARVIS. 

Peter climbs to his feet, swaying slightly but managing to wrestle his phone from his pockets. He thanks the AI and braves the mirror again. 

Well, at least his eyes aren’t puffy. 

As he makes to pocket his phone, he notices the screen’s still blurred. 

“Uh, Mr. JARVIS?” 

No response. No lock screen either.

“Do you, uh, do you have an opinion on… on this?”

“As an artificial intelligence, I have no opinions, Mr. Parker.”

The relief that statement brings Peter is irrational, but, well. 

“So you don’t think I’m on Osborne’s payroll anymore?”

“I have gathered sufficient evidence to the contrary.”

“Oh, um, that’s good.” Peter hesitates but curiosity wins out. Whatever the answer, it can’t be worse that what Rhodey and Mrs. Potts have already said to him. “Uh, from the data you have, Mr. JARVIS… Would a relationship between Tony and me work out? Like, in the long run?”

Peter holds his breath. 

“Inconclusive. There are too many variables to consider.”

 _Oh yeah, there are,_ Peter thinks, somewhat viciously. Still, ‘inconclusive’ doesn’t mean ‘impossible’. 

“Uh, thank you, Mr. JARVIS.”

“Two minutes remaining. If you leave now, you will yet arrive on time.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Peter mutters, almost at the door already. When he glances back at the screen, it’s gone dark again.

END OF DELETED SCENE

 

 **Chapter 31: Tinkering Tony**  
After Bucky takes the couple selfie, one version of chapter 31 included Tony’s POV and a scene with Pepper in the workshop that ended up being cut/re-written. 

[…]

*

They do mind. 

They mind very much. 

So much, in fact, that Remy’s calling Tony two minutes after Barnes posted the picture of the four of them and orders the kid and him to come in ASAP.

“How are you even at the office? It’s Sunday.”

“Well, if my boss decides to launch two new major initiatives at the same time,” Remy says sagely, “then I better put in some overtime to ensure everything’s in place for when he wants it. When can you be there?”

Wincing, Tony checks with Peter who panics immediately cause his shift won’t end until two o’clock but one of the many perks of being the boss is that Tony can simply decide they aren’t gonna be there until 2:30PM and Remy just has to live with it. 

Barnes is too distracted by the gazillion likes and comments he’s getting on the Instagram post, but Rogers at least manages to calm Peter down while Tony wraps up the call. 

“Guess I better return to my cave if I gotta spend the afternoon in Marketing instead of taking you out on a test drive, kid.” 

“Test drive?” Peter echoes though Tony waves him off, mouthing ‘Later’ with a parting wink. 

He almost gave Peter a quick peck, just because he can now. Thankfully, though, his brain reminded him of last night’s resolution in time to stop him. Which is, no PDA in front of strangers with cameras… and yup, there are definitely cameras trained at them by idiot patrons who think they’re being inconspicuous. 

Tony gives them all pointed grins on his way down the stairs. If he’s very lucky he’ll even make to the street without anyone intercepting him. 

He doesn’t. And then he doesn’t even make it to the workshop before Pepper calls him, in priority mode meaning he better pick up or fear the consequences. 

“You’re doing this just to spite me.” She sounds resigned. At least there’s a cup of coffee visible in the frame of the video so she can’t be too cross with him. “I’m supposed to be at my best for Silicon Valley and you wake me up with East Coast couple selfies.”

“Consider it revenge,” Tony says, more serious than joke. 

“This hardly seems like fair retribution.”

Tony doesn’t reply. Truth be told, he thinks he’s letting Pepper off lightly. Cornering a teenager in a courthouse stairwell is not gonna fly on Tony’s radar. 

Pepper heaves a sigh and takes a long sip from her coffee. They’re good with tense silences; this one even allows Tony to enter the workshop and figure out which of the R&D prototypes he’s supposed to be looking at first. Peter might enjoy the other one, though, so he better save it for later…

“You’re smiling.”

“Hm?”

Pepper’s expression has gone all soft and fond. “You’re smiling. Now, and in the picture. I admit, the means I used were questionable yet if this is the result, I have no regrets.”

“I smile quite often.”

“Not like this,” Pepper says, but leaves it at that. 

At least she’s a lot more apologetic than Rhodey, who can apparently live with Tony being mad at him but not with the fallout from a messy breakup if he can do something to prevent it. Ugh, the guy spends too much time planning ops; it’s bad for his people skills. 

“You’re not one to lecture others on people skills, Tony.”

“Wait, did I –” Tony groans, cause “of course I did.”

Pepper pours herself another cup. “Don’t be too mean to McKenna, okay?”

“I’ll try. She makes it really difficult what with the – did she get a new set of pearls? Where do people even buy those? Can you even get in before hitting seventy?”

“Goodbye, Tony.”

“Yeah, yeah, kiss some Silicon Valley ass for me.”

That mental image has Pepper shudder, to Tony’s great amusement, which is only heightened by the fact that he doesn’t have to take their arc reactor plans to the plexes and campuses – _campi?_ – of Palo Alto and surrounding areas. They still see SI as the evil corporate wolf in sheep’s clothing… Maybe he should make Peter an ambassador to millennial hipsters with wardrobes that even George Clooney couldn’t make look good, he’d win them over in a heart beat. 

Plus, Tony would get to show off his house in Malibu, which also holds some of his more valuable cars (cause driving along the coast in California is a hell of a lot more fun than in New York, even if the traffic’s just as bad in the cities) and shit, yeah – the original particle accelerator that saved his ass back when the arc reactor was more killing him instead of keeping him alive. 

“J, put ‘Take Peter to California’ on my bucket list! Maybe there’s a keynote some tech conference wants me for or something soon.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Grinning to himself, Tony picks up the prototype and sits down at a workstation, ready to speed his way through the task but then has to stop. 

He can do that now. 

He can take Peter out without having to hide. 

Cause they’re together now. 

For some reason, it hasn’t really hit him until now, yet once he indulges the sensations, they spread through his entire body and it feels awesome.

“Screw this,” Tony decides, dropping the prototype. 

A brilliant day requires a project of equal scope. And he has just the thing.

END OF DELETED SCENE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … and that’s truly it, now. For part one, at least! 
> 
> Yes, it's officially a series now =) I don’t want to leave this universe yet, and I need some fanfic distraction while delving into other screenwriting projects. 
> 
> EDIT 12-2018: Parts 2 and 3 are under works, folks, but it will be a while yet until they're ready for sharing. 
> 
> *
> 
> If you’re new to this verse and are reading this a bit after it was completed, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this story. What did you like, what didn’t work for you, or just a simple “this was good” or “I enjoyed this” will light up my day =)
> 
> PS: ... and I swear I will respond to comments. Real life has been kicking my butt (yes, double-t and all) recently and I'm afraid I'm a bit behind on this fic. Plus, my mental health has been severely lacking. So apologies in advance for taking ages to reply, but reply I will.


End file.
